The High Priestess and the Fool
by KkarmaCchameleon
Summary: Books and pranks. Wisdom and humor. Uptight and easygoing. Hermione and Fred. Nobody really saw it coming. (M for language because I'm paranoid.)
1. Ace of Cups

When Mr. Weasley went to fetch Harry from his aunt and uncle's house and elected to bring Fred and George along with him, Hermione knew—she just _knew_ they would play some sort of prank.

And, as she had grown accustomed to, she was absolutely right.

Merlin, those two could get to her.

There was nothing wrong with having fun. No, Hermione wasn't _that_ uptight. (Although everyone seemed to think she _was._) She didn't mind fun as long as it was in healthy doses. The problem with the Weasley twins, though, was that they didn't know what a reasonable amount of fun was, and almost always ended up overdosing. In Hermione's eyes, an overdose of fun was worse than no fun at all. They would go too far with a prank or a joke without realizing it until it was too late. They didn't mean any harm, but that didn't mean they didn't _cause_ harm. They blazed a trail of destruction with their well-meaning _fun._

Fred had purposefully dropped those blasted candies knowing full well that Harry's poor cousin—oh, _what_ was his name?—was on a diet and was greedy and would pick it up. Duncan—no, that wasn't right, but she would stick with that until she remembered—was a bully and he loved taking things that weren't his, and those were terrible personality traits. Hermione acknowledged that he wasn't the nicest person out there, but that didn't mean he deserved to be picked on also. It could have gone horribly wrong. He could have—

Dudley. That was his name. _Dudley_ could have gotten seriously injured.

* * *

There were three people in the entire house that weren't amused, and one who pretended to be annoyed just so as not to start a fight.

Fred knew his dad would have laughed under other circumstances. If, instead of falling into the grabby hands of Harry's revolting cousin, another wizard had happened upon the candy, he was almost completely sure his dad wouldn't have been so frustrated with the twins. But he had such a soft spot for Muggles. And of course, once their mother was involved, he couldn't very well admit to finding it amusing. Mr. Weasley always did his best to keep the peace.

His mum, well, she didn't like their jokes. She had hopes for their future, and they just weren't going down the right path. She was always just the tiniest bit irked with them for one reason or another, and she had spent the entire summer so far ranting about Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He hadn't really expected her to laugh.

Percy was a stuck-up prick who had no sense of humor, so it was no surprise that he gave them a haughty and scornful look about the Ton-Tongue Toffee.

Hermione, now, that one confused him a bit, Fred had to admit. Sure, she was a stickler for the rules, but she had to see the good in a harmless prank? But she hadn't joined in the laughter with all the others. Even Harry, who would probably have to suffer for it next summer, had chortled.

Oh, it didn't matter.

He'd made more than one person laugh, and that was good enough for him.

* * *

"FRED! GEORGE!" Percy bellowed later that night.

"You dealt last time," Fred muttered. "Guess it's my turn."

"Good luck," George said bracingly as his brother left the room, breathing a sigh of relief that he wouldn't be the one to face Percy's wrath tonight. He needed his sleep.

"Whatever do you need, oh pompous brother of mine?" Fred asked, smiling tightly, leaning against the doorway to Percy's room.

"How did one of your sweets end up on my desk?" There it was, plain and obvious in its bright wrapper.

Damn. He hadn't eaten it. "I haven't the foggiest," he replied, playing clueless.

"It's a good thing I didn't eat it! Clever, mixing it in with the others in the bowl."

It had been a nice plan. They'd dropped the toffee in his candy bowl a few days earlier in the hopes that he would get distracted while he worked and not notice he was eating it until his tongue began to swell. "Did you just call me clever, Perce? I'm shocked."

"Clever is a relative term," Percy snapped. "And the two of you are far from it. You think you're so _brilliant,_ coming up with disgusting candies and fake wands."

"Hm, yeah, I'd say it's kind of—"

"But where's that going to get you?" he continued, as though Fred had not tried to speak. Typical. "After you leave Hogwarts, what are you going to do with your life? I paid attention to my classwork, and I'm already working for the Ministry. But you and George... have you _ever_ listened to a word a professor has said to you?"

"Actually, I—"

Percy cut him off again. "What are you going to do after Hogwarts. You got, what, three O.W.L.s? You have a lot of catching up to do, or you won't pass N.E.W.T.s or get a decent job after you graduate."

"Well—"

His tone was becoming taunting, almost mean. "All you've got to show for five years of education is a box of bad jokes. That's not going to get you anywhere good, Fred!"

"I don't care where it gets me, _Percy,_" he snarled. "As long as I have a good time along the way."

"Ooh, I can't _wait_ to see how you turn out. But I bet I can guess: you won't have moved out of here in the next five years. You won't be able to get a job because you have _no_ qualifications. You'll be the deadbeat brother that drags everyone else down. But you've still got time to change that. You can always—"

"Maybe I don't _want_ to change that!" he shouted before turning on his heel and walking away.

Fucking Percy, trying to shove the Ministry on everyone. If Fred heard one more word about Crouch or Fudge or expectations or his bloody _future,_ he was going to snap. As it was, he found himself outside in the garden, slamming the door behind him before pulling at his hair and screaming at the sky, "_Motherfucker!"_

There was a squeak and the sound of something falling out of a tree. Upon closer inspection, it wasn't a something so much as a _someone._ "Ah, hell, sorry Hermione!" He gave her a hand and helped her off the ground. "Uh, didn't mean to knock you out of a tree," he muttered.

"It's fine," she said briskly, brushing dirt off her jeans. "I couldn't sleep and it's quiet out, nice for thinking. I mean, it _was_ quiet."

"Sorry," he said again.

Sinking back to the ground, she patted the spot next to her, surprise when he really did sit. "Do you...do you wanna talk about it?" Hermione mumbled, feeling awkward. The Weasleys were like family, but that didn't mean she went around having heart-to-hearts with them every chance she got.

"Talk about what?" he asked flatly.

"Whatever made you come outside and scream profanities in the middle of the night."

"It's nothing!" he exclaimed, instantly regretting how snippy he came across. "It's just...Percy. He thinks the trick sweets are stupid."

"Well... I mean, it _was_ stupid, what you did earlier, I mean." She sighed, knowing she shouldn't push the issue, but not being able to help it. "Your dad could have gotten in trouble if they hadn't let him help them out. _You_ could've gotten in trouble, and I know that's nothing new for you, but it would've been worse because it involved a Muggle. You—"

"I know, Hermione!" he yelled, standing up and pacing. "I _know_ it was stupid! I _know_ you think everything George and I _do_ is stupid! People like you always do!"

"P-people like me?" she stammered, taken aback.

"People like you, people like Percy! Perfectionists who don't have any idea how to loosen up and have fun every once in a while! People that would never set foot in a joke shop, so you don't understand why people like _me_ want to open one in the first place. People who go through their whole life not knowing what it's like to LAUGH!" He was breathing hard, finally letting out the anger that had been steadily building all day.

Hermione stood quickly, not meeting his eye. "Well, if that's what you think, I'll just... I'll just be going, then." She looked highly offended.

No, not just that.

She looked _hurt._

"Shit, Hermione," Fred whispered, feeling guilt wash over him. He grabbed at her wrist, which she promptly snatched away from him. "I'm sorry... I'm just so frustrated. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"No, you shouldn't have." He really did look sincere in his apology, so she decided she would forgive him. Besides, if he didn't get these things off his chest, he would explode. He was clearly holding a lot in, and she couldn't sleep. Why not knock out two birds with one stone—he could vent his feelings, and she could pass the time until she was actually tired. "But I shouldn't have tried to use this as a good opportunity for a lecture. I wasn't saying that the sweets are stupid—that's actually somewhat impressive magic. I'm just saying that what you did was a little stupid." She made her way back to the tree, climbing up to her original branch with ease. "So, you were saying. Percy..."

"Right." _Did Hermione Granger just call something he did impressive?_ He followed, struggling slightly but eventually perching on a branch of his own, a foot below and slightly to the right of hers. "Percy. He just, he wants me to be just like him, thinks jokes are useless. I really am sorry for comparing you to him, by the way. That's probably the worst thing I've said in a while."

"Okay, we're both in agreement that you were an arse. Moving on." She waved a hand, signaling him to continue.

"I just feel like everyone has a mold they want me to fill. Mum expects so many great things out of the rest of us because Bill is perfect and Charlie is perfect and Percy is perfect, and she wastes no time telling us how disappointed she is with how we're turning out because we're not quite perfect. She doesn't mean it to be so negative; she only wants to encourage us to do better, but who says we _want_ to do better? Someone's gotta have the joke shop, just the same as someone's gotta work for a bank. There's always jobs that need filling, but sometimes she only sees the big ones, the ones that I have no interest in. There's expectations she's got that I know I'm not going to live up to, and I hate disappointing my mother because, well, who actually enjoys letting their parents down? I want to be perfect like she expects me to, but I can't do it. Not the way she wants. I can't be the perfect role model child she's come to expect because of the first three."

Hermione was in awe. Never would she have expected such a real confession to come out of _Fred Weasley. _She didn't know what to say at first. "Well," she said eventually, "what do you want to do after Hogwarts?"

"Mum thinks—"

"No, Fred. Not what your mum or dad or brothers wants. What do _you_ want to do when you finish school?"

"I want to open a joke shop with George."

"Then do it! To hell with what they expect from you. Surpass their expectations and become perfect at what _you_ are perfect at!" Had he been in a less vulnerable state, she may have tried to sway him to agree with his mother a little more, but she could tell that wasn't what he wanted—_needed_ to hear. He needed someone on his side. "You and George, you can make people laugh more than anyone I know. I've even seen _McGonagall_ crack a smile at you two before. So if that's what you really want to do, then stick with it."

He blinked at her, surprised. And then he was standing up, balancing precariously on the limb so he could give her a hug. "Hermione Granger, you just might be better therapy than firewhiskey!"

There was no time to decided whether this was a compliment or not before the branch he was standing on snapped from the tree with a loud _CRACK!_ Since he was holding onto her, she fell also, landing under him. Their noses were just an inch apart, and his eyes wandered to her lips before he shook his head, clearing those thoughts.

"Er, well, better get some sleep, right?" he suggested, pushing himself off of her.

"What? Oh, right. Sleep. Yeah, gotta get an early start tomorrow," she agreed. They walked to the door together. "Well, ah, goodnight."

"G'night. And thanks. For listening, and the advice and stuff. That was really... Just, thanks." _Why_ was he struck with the sudden inability to form coherent sentences?

She gave a small smile. "Anytime, Fred."

* * *

Fred didn't sleep very well.

He tossed and turned and couldn't get comfortable and even though he wasn't very angry anymore, he was confused, and if there was one thing Fred Weasley really hated, it was being confused.

He had definitely wanted to kiss Hermione earlier, and that's what left him feeling so puzzled. It was _Hermione! _She was just his little brother's bookworm friend, and he'd never had a reason to see her in another way. It was because he was sleep-deprived, that was all. If he'd been fully awake, surely the thought of kissing Hermione Granger wouldn't have even crossed his mind.

Except it did.

Although he didn't think two hours and six minutes of fitful sleep qualified as a good night's rest, and he didn't consider himself to be fully awake, when Hermione stumbled into the kitchen, hair a bigger mess than usual, rubbing at her eyes, all he could think about was taking three steps and kissing her.

And that was the kind of thinking he couldn't do. She was fourteen and best friends with his brother. What Fred needed was a nap to shake the idea out of his system entirely. Since that was an impossibility, a distraction would do. Something to ensure he quit staring at her.

Unfortunately, that distraction came in the form of his enraged mother, who had noticed something in George's pocket.

Damn it.

* * *

Hermione was exhausted.

She'd laid awake for at least an hour after coming inside, wondering if she'd done something wrong. One second, Fred had been on top of her and grinning and the next he'd turned awkward. For one fleeting moment, she'd thought he was actually going to kiss her. She felt stupid for even thinking it, and if there was one thing Hermione Granger really hated, it was feeling stupid.

She'd wanted him to kiss her, and that was _insane!_ He was Fred. He was her best friend's older brother who lived off amusement and likely hadn't cracked open a book in years. They weren't even close. She was just suffering from a brief spell of insomnia—it happened to her every summer, after all—and wasn't thinking clearly. If she'd been sleeping right, she wouldn't have ever even thought about wanting Fred to kiss her.

Except she did.

She yawned as she walked into the kitchen. Maybe she could tell Ginny about what happened—no, it would be weird; she and Fred were siblings. Harry, then? He wouldn't laugh at her too much. And she _really_ wished Fred would quit staring at her like that. It was making her nervous. If only something else would capture his attention.

And then Mrs. Weasley was shouting at the twins and performing the Summoning Charm repeatedly and Fred was yelling, "We spent six months developing those!" and his mother was angrily saying something about how that was why he hadn't gotten so many O.W.L.s and Hermione decided that she would rather Fred keep staring at her than have _that_ look on his face, the pained cross between sad and mad.

As he and George stormed off, Hermione thought that—yes, she would _much_ prefer that he stared at her.

* * *

**Alright, **firstly, this is rated M because, as I said in the description, I like to be careful. Because, let's face it, these characters are gonna swear a lot in the next few years. Secondly, this is my first real attempt at a chaptered fic. And also my first attempt at Fremione. (I typically only write Jily.)  
Let me know what you think. (Good? Bad? Oh my god, Caitlyn, just abandon this effort while you can?)  
And also, I apologize for the awful summary/description thing, and the fact that you read this even after the subpar summarization makes me exceedingly happy.


	2. Ace of Swords

Fred was still reeling from the giddy feeling of having attending the Quidditch World Cup when he drifted into what was probably the best night's sleep he'd had all summer. Ireland won, Krum got the Snitch, he and George had a huge pile of winnings, Hermione had smirked at him and whispered _"I know what you're doing with that. Your secret's safe with me."_ and then gone to her and Ginny's tent with a small wink, and things were really going his way and he just had so many reasons to fall asleep with a huge smile on his face.

But then there were loud banging noises outside and people were screaming and his dad was shaking him awake and telling them all to run.

They stuck together for a while, but were inevitably separated. It was all he could do to keep track of George and Ginny as the three of them darted between terrified wizards and dodged flashes of light.

_What the hell was going on?_

That seemed to be the collective thought of most of the people running in all directions, shrieking and yelling and tripping and grabbing for their families. No one appeared to have any idea what was really happening, but the feeling of terror was enough to cause anyone to panic, even without knowing all the details of the situation.

"Death Eaters," George muttered suddenly.

"What?" Ginny whispered.

"Look!"

A group of masked wizards were levitating—or maybe torturing—what looked like Mr. Roberts and his family. Muggles being treated cruelly in a very public setting...that definitely sounded like the Death Eaters. And the group was steadily growing in numbers.

"Hermione," Fred said aloud.

"What about her?" George and Ginny asked in unison.

"She's a Muggle-born."

"Oh," said Ginny quietly, understanding.

George saw the fear that crossed his sister's face and put a hand on her shoulder. "And we're blood traitors." Then he shot Fred a look that said _could we maybe not talk about this in front of a thirteen year old?_

Fred shut up, but his thoughts were racing. Death Eaters were less likely to hurt blood traitors because they still wanted Pure-blood lineage out there. But Muggle-borns—well, they wouldn't spare any. Who said they were even aiming to kill tonight, though? Why was that his first assumption?

He thought of the three of them—a Muggle-born, a blood traitor, and the Boy Who Lived. The three things You-Know-Who's army hated the most, all together at once.

George yanked on his arm, pulling him and Ginny to the left as another gaggle of the masked people passed by, lazily flicking their wands and settling tents ablaze without even glancing to see their handiwork. Ginny looked at her older brothers and rolled her eyes, tugging both of them with her. "No sense staying put. We're almost back to our tent."

It was the first time she'd ever tried to take charge, and the twins were surprised by it, but before any of them could fully appreciate the subtle personality shift, another one of the Death Eaters—or, as their father would surely point out later, _assumed_ Death Eaters, as they had no way of being sure they were, in fact, followers of You-Know-Who—appeared out of nowhere. He was saying something to himself, but the only word they caught was _Mudblood._

Before he fully knew what he was doing, Fred had whipped out his wand and shouted, "_Stupefy!"_

As the stranger hit the ground, Fred noticed that his siblings were gaping at him. "What? He was in our way. C'mon."

Trying to get over the shock of what just happened, Ginny and George followed him the rest of the way back to the tent in silence.

It was a few minutes later, after the eldest Weasley brothers had told their tales of what happened and Ginny asked if they knew where Dad was (they weren't sure), that George regained the ability to speak. "I can't believe you hexed a Death Eater!"

Fully aware everyone was staring at him, Fred repeated, "He was in our way!"

He didn't have to defend himself, because the remaining four chose that second to _finally_ enter the tent. They all looked okay! His face broke into a grin, and for the second time that night, he was doing something before he was conscious of his actions. This time, however, he wasn't hexing anyone. He was standing up and crossing the tent quickly and pulling Hermione into a hug.

* * *

While she, Harry, and Ron were returning to the tent with Mr. Weasley, Hermione couldn't help but let a laugh escape.

"What in Merlin's name is so funny?" Ron asked.

"Nothing," she mumbled quickly.

She couldn't explain it; he and Harry wouldn't understand.

But it had crossed her mind that her parents really had no clue what kind of situations she got herself into. Over holidays, she gave them the barest details, skimming over the worse bits. She told them about doing well on exams and on using logic to help Harry stop You-Know-Who/Quirrell; she neglected to mention the chess match, the three-headed dog, and how many school rules she broke in the process. The school, damn them, sent her parents a letter when she was petrified, and another when she was restored to health; she didn't bother to tell them about brewing the Polyjuice Potion or accidentally halfway turning into a cat. She told them _all about_ Harry finally meeting his godfather, and making the mature decision to drop a few classes because the stress was just too much, and _oh, by the way, that Sirius Black man from the news is innocent, just so you know;_ she didn't feel it necessary that they knew about the werewolf professor, how she and Ron and Harry all hexed Professor Snape at the same time, storming out of Divination and never going back, or punching Malfoy in the face.

She told them how good all her professors said she was at spells, but not about using _Petrificus Totalus_ poor Neville that one time. She told them about all the points she earned for Gryffindor, but not about the ones she had taken away. She told them about Quidditch, but not about cursed Bludgers and Harry falling from his broom. She told them about some of her adventures, but not about all the trouble she got into—or very nearly got into—along the way. In short, she told them what they needed to know with as little cause for them to worry as possible.

What they didn't know couldn't hurt them.

And now she'd be writing to tell them all about how amazing the Cup was and what a great time she had and that she wanted to go again someday, but kindly forgetting to bring up anything about the Muggles being tortured, or the Dark Mark, or the fact that she was very briefly accused of _casting_ the Dark Mark.

It was better that way.

When they were near the tent, she heard the voices of the twins: _"I can't believe you hexed a Death Eater!" "He was in our way!"_

Well, there was a story she had to hear.

She walked in after Ron and Harry, and she didn't have a chance to assess any injuries the others had suffered before Fred was right in front of her and crushing her against him in a tight hug.

That was unexpected. She awkwardly hugged him back, but then he jumped away, like he'd just realized what he was doing. His face was scarlet, and to ease the sudden tension, she asked, "So...I hear someone hexed a Death Eater?"

"Er—yeah—that'd be me," said Fred.

"Really?" Mr. Weasley cut in. "Why's that? And don't say he was in your way; I want a full story."

And so George took it upon himself to recount to them the tale of The Night Fred Stunned the Death Eater. (Although Hermione was ninety-five percent sure that at _least_ half of the details were fabricated.)

* * *

Ginny Weasley prided herself on being perceptive.

Coming from such a large family, she was around people enough as a young child that she understood how they worked.

For instance, she knew that everyone was wrong when they said her friend Luna Lovegood—Loony, as she was more commonly known—did a good job at ignoring what was said behind her back—snide comments, mostly—and to her face—the people feigning interest in whatever weird creature she was chattering about at a given time, but really didn't care and only wanted more fodder for their mockery. No, it wasn't that Luna ignored it at all. What others didn't realize was that she didn't care. But Ginny saw; she knew that Luna didn't give a _damn_ what anyone else said.

She also knew that while her dad was very proud to have his son working for someone at the Ministry so soon after finishing up at Hogwarts, he wasn't exactly thrilled with how absorbed in his job Percy already was. It was the look on his face that gave it away; every time Percy would talk about work and Mr. Crouch, their dad had the same expression. Ginny caught on pretty quickly that it meant something.

She could tell that something was going on with Fred. She'd heard his shouting match with Percy. She'd seen the way he tried so hard not to stare at Hermione the next morning. She'd noticed that he was scarily distracted after the Quidditch World Cup, when he should have been alert, and then he stunned the _assumed_ Death Eater just for saying the word Mudblood, though he still maintained that _he was in our way!_ And of course, _everyone_ saw when he hugged Hermione. George had valiantly smothered his own laughter at that, Ron's jaw had dropped to just a few inches above the ground, and Harry had raised an eyebrow to the room at large in the hopes that someone would have an answer to his unspoken question of _what the hell?_

And now, she saw the look of concern that crossed his face when she emerged from the car at King's Cross, covered in cat scratches, a few thin stripes of blood still running down her arms. As she boarded the Hogwarts Express, she wondered two things:

Did _Fred_ have a crush on Hermione?

How did that even happen?

* * *

**So, **I've got the next few chapters written already, but I don't want to post them all at once. Thanks to **Cassie-D1 **for reviewing, and to everyone that's read it so far. You're all lovely!

And since for some reason I can't change the chapter of Chapter 1, I just wanted to say that its title was supposed to be Ace of Cups, which is kind of important.


	3. The Chariot

As the year got off to a reasonably normal start, there was one peculiar thing that Hermione couldn't help but notice.

Fred seemed to be popping up _everywhere._

She would be eating breakfast with Harry and Ron, and Fred would drop into the seat next to her. Or she'd be in the library and he would appear—Fred Weasley. In the library. Not tricking anyone. It was unprecedented. She'd be studying in the Common Room and look to her right and he'd be there. If she was by herself, he would try to strike up a conversation, but it always ended up awkward and he would find an excuse to leave quickly. He'd even managed to bump into her on the way to Defense Against the Dark Arts and offered to carry her books.

Twice.

It wasn't as creepy as it sounded when she went over the details in her mind, and it didn't bother her. In fact, if it was anybody else, she'd think it was downright sweet. But there was a nagging thought that told her that it could all be a part of some _very _convoluted prank of his and George's.

And if it wasn't...well, why _now? _Why the sudden interest in—what, exactly?

* * *

Dragons.

In just a few minutes, one of Hermione's best friends was going to face a god damn dragon.

Harry was going up against one of the most undeniably dangerous creatures in the world—magical and Muggle worlds _combined_—with only his wand and the hope that he could perform a Summoning Charm from out here. She was going to be sick.

What if he couldn't get the spell to work? What if his Firebolt got caught somewhere? What if the dragon got to him first? What if he passed out upon sight of the thing? What if—

"You okay?" a voice asked from the previously unoccupied space to her left.

She just about jumped out of her skin before turning to see Fred. "I'm fine," she muttered. "Just a little on edge."

"A little?" Ron asked from her other side. "You haven't even mentioned _spew_ all day!"

Hermione didn't have it in her to get offended.

"You _are_ looking a little green," said Fred, before leaning around her and directing a question to Ron: "Have you placed your bet yet?"

"Are you out of your mind?" Hermione squeaked.

"Not life or death bets!" he said hastily. "More of—"

The screaming crowd drowned him out, which was probably a good thing, judging by the look Hermione was giving him.

She could barely watch, but she was unable to look away. It was terrifying, really, and she figured out why. She'd been in danger before, and she'd even assisted in smuggling a dragon out of the castle. She was _used_ to seeing her friends in this kind of trouble. But every time one of them had been in a particularly dangerous situation, she'd known that she could get them out of it somehow. She could figure out a lock, or go to the library, or use a Time Turner. But now, she just had to watch and knew that there was _nothing_ she could do if something went wrong.

As her worried thoughts kicked into overdrive _again,_ Harry captured the egg, and the shouting started again.

Everyone—the Gryffindors, at least—jumped to their feet, cheering for their champion. Even a few of the Durmstrang students were clapping, looking impressed at how quickly he'd managed to get the egg. Parvati and Lavender were hugging excitedly, squealing with delight. The Gryffindors' faces were all a mixture of relief and glee. Ron, obviously done with the stupid fight he and Harry had been in, was shouting, "I knew you could do it!"

Hermione wasn't sure when she'd first grabbed Fred's hand, but she felt him tugging it out of her grasp. "I need my hand back," he explained, grinning.

"Right," she said quickly, busying herself with locating the book she'd brought along to try to distract herself from her nerves before the task began. She kept her face down so he couldn't see that she'd turned bright red. At some point during the stress of watching Harry try to escape the dragon, she'd reached for his hand. She wasn't really consciously aware of doing it, but, well... Oh, why was she even reading into this at all? He was there and his hand was readily available and she'd needed something to grab onto during the stress, that was it.

"Hermione, I—" Fred began, but Ron interrupted with, "C'mon, let's go find him!"

"What? Oh, right. Harry!"

And the pair began to run to the Champions tent, leaving behind a very slightly disappointed Fred.

* * *

It was the first week of December, and Fred was nicking food from the kitchens.

Was it stealing if they gave it willingly, though?

After all, the house-elves were _more _than happy to give him food when he came down there. Maybe it was because of their serving nature, or perhaps simply because he was there so often that it would be pointless to refuse him. Whatever the reason, he honestly didn't care. They gave him food and didn't put up a fight and that was good enough for him.

The door started to swing open, and he froze. He'd been caught in here his fair share of times, as had George, and he usually managed to escape with a warning. But with the guests in the castle that the professors were so eager to impress, would he get a stricter punishment? Not that he was a stranger to detentions, of course. But he wasn't too keen on the idea of getting detention for something he'd squeezed by with only a strict talking to on other occasions.

He dropped the jug of pumpkin juice he was holding when he saw who it was.

"Hermione?"

"Oh, um. Hi, Fred." It was clear that she hadn't expected anyone else being in the kitchen. In fact, she'd been _counting_ on it just being her and the house-elves.

"What brings you here?" he asked curiously as one of the elves rushed to clean up the spill. "You're not much of a rule-breaker."

"Er, well, you know... I was just..."

His eyes widened. "You were going to try to stir them up to rebellion, weren't you?"

She didn't deny it.

"Miss Granger!" he exclaimed. "You mustn't insult them!" He acted mortified at the idea of insulting a house-elf, but they both knew he just wanted to ensure he had a continued supply of free food.

"But if I can just _talk to them_ about it," she protested. "I mean, look at Dobby! He's free but he still does a bloody fantastic job! If they could all see the light—"

"Hermione," he said seriously. "I'm really very sorry that I have to do this, but I just can't on a good conscience let you disturb the peace in here."

And with that, he threw a chocolate eclair at her.

She didn't see it coming until it was unavoidable, so she got a face full of chocolate and whipped cream.

Fred held his breath, waiting for her reaction. She could get mad, or walk away, or—knowing how girls were—she could burst into tears. What she did instead was entirely unforeseen.

She retaliated.

He was so shocked that he didn't have time to dodge the handful of flour she'd thrown at him. The house-elves looked on with confusion and the slightest hint of irritation; Lisky had _just_ measured out that flour for the bread.

"Oh, big mistake, Granger," he warned, taking a few steps closer and splashing a goblet of apple juice in her face. He _knew_ he was pushing his luck right now. Sure, she could laugh, but Hermione hardly seemed like the type to get into a food fight.

But within two minutes, that was precisely what was going on.

They were running around the kitchen, avoiding the elves, and flinging whatever they could get their hands on. "You should give up!" he shouted, ducking and just barely avoiding the peas sailing across the room. "There is _no way_ you're going to win this!"

Hermione only rolled her eyes in response. She didn't want to say it aloud, but she was a little confused: how did one go about _winning_ a food fight? Having no experience in the area herself, she didn't know. But it would be downright embarrassing to ask, so she just held up a pan and deflected another slice of chocolate pie.

"Come on," he coaxed, waving his wand and sending an entire tray of unbaked cookies her way. "Just give up."

"Hey!" she yelled, trying to ignore the fact that there were now several chunks of cookie dough in her hair. "No magic!"

"Oh really? When did _that_ become a rule? You should know by now that I like to _win. _And also, there _are_ no rules."

Well, that was her cue, then. If there were no rules... She picked up a plate of something or other—it looked like some kind of French cuisine, and on any other occasion, she would have cared to figure out, but all that mattered right now was that it was a very runny-looking meal that would surely make a mess—and walked over to him with purpose.

He eyed her with suspicion. "What're you doing?"

"Truce?" she asked sweetly. She gestured with one hand to the bowl he was holding. "We can both drop our weapons and call it a tie?"

"Sure, I guess. I s'pose that's better for you than losing, isn't it?" And very slowly, he lowered the bowl.

She was a second behind him—she wasn't planning on _actually_ setting down the plate.

He had a similar plan, though, because at the same time, they straightened and simultaneously overturned their dishes on one another's heads.

Fred had gravy streaming down his face and she had pancake batter dripping from her hair onto her shoulders. A lot of things could have happened in the few seconds that followed, but they just started laughing.

"Why, Hermione, I never knew you could be so devious!" He clapped a hand to his heart. "Seriously, though, truce?"

"Truce," she agreed. And then she groaned.

"What? Is it _that_ hard to bring this wonderful battle to an end? Or are you going to miss my company that much when you leave?"

She smacked his arm. "No. It's just that if I look _half_ as bad as you, there is _no way_ I'm going to walk all the way back to the Common Room looking like this."

He laughed even harder at that. "It's your own fault, you know." But then he gave her a kind smile. "Do you trust me?"

"After the fake peace-making, no."

"You started it! No, I can rinse us off. We learned this spell in Charms a few weeks ago."

She deliberated. "Do it on yourself first."

"Fair enough." He closed his eyes and directed his wand at his face first. _"Aguamenti." _A jet of water shot out of the tip of his wand, and he kept it up until there were only a few flecks of food left in his hair, and none on his face or clothes. "Your turn."

Hermione shut her eyes tight and couldn't help but gasp when the cold water hit her face. It took longer for her, probably because she had more hair, but at last he was done. She shivered. She wouldn't mind a long, hot shower.

"I'll walk you to the Common Room?" he offered, grinning. "I know a shortcut."

"Of course you do," she said under her breath, though she followed him all the same.

He led her up a staircase she didn't even know existed. "So, that was all kinds of fun," he said conversationally, eyes sparkling. "We should definitely do that again sometime."

"Don't count on it." She realized she came across as rude, because she added, "I don't usually do stuff like that."

They were already outside the Common Room. "Told you it was a shortcut!" He sounded proud of himself.

"Impressive."

"That's twice now you've called me impressive. Are we making a habit of this?" To the Fat Lady, he said, "Fairy lights."

The portrait swung open, and he knew she was about to go upstairs, so Fred finally got out what he really wanted to say. "You should let loose more often. Laughter looks good on you."

He watched her smile and go on her way before trudging up to his own dormitory. He was banking on it being deserted, but George was sprawled on his own bed, tossing a rubber ball—which was, a few minutes earlier, a fake wand—up toward the ceiling repeatedly. "What happened to you?" he asked, observing the soaking state his brother was in.

"Skirmish in the kitchens." He rummaged through his trunk for clothes, but then stopped. "I think I need your advice."

"Oh, you _always_ need my advice," George quipped. Then he noticed how serious Fred looked, so he adopted a stony face and sat up. "But, er, what's wrong?"

Fred sank onto his own bed, not caring that he was getting the sheets wet. "Have you ever seen someone for years, but then suddenly you see them and it's entirely different and—"

"Before you go any further," George cut in, "let me ask one thing. Are you gay?"

He gave a small chuckle. "No, not gay, Georgie."

"Then who's the unlucky witch who's caught your eye?"

"Don't laugh."

"I will," he promised, smirking.

"It's Hermione."

George didn't laugh.

* * *

**Welp,** there's chapter 3! Chapter 4 will probably be up within the next couple of days, since it's already written and just needs to be edited. Thanks to **krikanalo **and **Cassie-D1** for reviewing!


	4. Wheel of Fortune

The headmasters of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang had a warped sense of humor.

The Yule Ball was perhaps the _worst_ idea Fred had heard of. And considering the many failed plots he and George had come up with over the years, that was saying something.

How could they be expected to just _ask_ someone? He was a confident bloke, but that had its limits. He was still trying to get used to the tongue-tied feeling he often experienced when he was around Hermione—the way his words would get jumbled up, or he'd blurt something unfeasibly stupid in a feeble attempt to salvage their conversations, or to start one at all.

Maybe he could just flat-out ask her...

She'd probably laugh, though, wouldn't she?

_No, she wouldn't,_ suggested the tiny voice of reason he tended to forget existed. That small, logical part reminded him of Hermione's kind advice that night over the summer. How she hadn't been entirely repulsed when he'd impulsively hugged her after the World Cup. How she'd grabbed his hand halfway through Harry's battle with the dragon, even though Ron, who she knew better, had been right there also, and hadn't let go until he'd pointed it out to her. The fight in the kitchens and the way she'd smiled.

The signs didn't point to someone who was entirely uninterested in him.

She might not turn him down, but there was no _way_ he could pluck up the courage to ask her. Not when he felt like he'd swallowed a whole batch of Ton-Tongue Toffee every time he was near her.

* * *

"So," Ginny gushed, "anyone you're hoping will ask you to the Ball?" She was with Hermione, so she felt secure being excited about it instead of pretending not to care.

Hermione shrugged. "Not exactly..." She took a large bite of toast, if only for an excuse not to give a more elaborate response.

Ginny raised an eyebrow at her friend. "Explain."

"There's people around," she complained.

"And they're all wrapped up in their _own_ conversations. Come on, no way of getting out of this; I'll just hound you about it until you tell me. Spill."

She knew Ginny was right, and that she would be relentless unless Hermione divulged the details. May as well get it over with. With a sigh, she said, "Well, it's your brother..."

She nodded understandingly. "I always knew you and Ron would end up together."

"It's not Ron," she said quietly. She'd figured Ginny would jump to that conclusion first. Everyone did; Parvati had already inquired as to how she was going to choose between Harry and Ron, as though either of them were actually options. They were such good friends that it was easier to see them as brothers than anything else.

"Oh, Merlin. _That's_ why you said 'not exactly.' Because he's not a student anymore, so he couldn't take you. Hermione!" Her tone was almost scolding.

"What are you _talking_ about?"

"Percy, right? I mean, he's more your type than Ron, but—"

"Not Percy, either," she said.

"But Bill's far too old for you..." When Hermione shook her head, Ginny threw her hands up in defeat. "Okay, I'm out of ideas. Who?"

"Fred."

Ginny's eyes widened, not at the confession, but because when she glanced back up, Fred was directly behind Hermione. She made an almost imperceptible motion with her head, but Fred took the hint and left at once.

"What? Oh, damn, he's right behind me, isn't he?" She whipped around, but there was nobody there.

"No, no, it's just... I never saw that coming, that's all. I figured it'd go on unrequited for a while until he gave it up."

_"What?"_

"Er, nothing. Just, y'know, through a few observations, I kind of figured out a few months ago that Fred fancies you..." It wasn't her business and she shouldn't have been blabbing about it to Hermione, but Ginny was hit with the sudden desire to play matchmaker. Fred liked Hermione, Hermione liked Fred... Assuming he didn't do something colossally stupid in the name of fun and she didn't overthink—the things they were most notorious for—then Ginny thought she could see it working out.

"And you didn't _bother_ to mention this?"

* * *

After her little chat with Ginny, Hermione felt more positive.

But as the days started to slip by, she began to lose hope.

He still _seemed _friendly enough, but—

Oh.

He was being friendly. Maybe that was _all_ he wanted: to be friends. She'd been misinterpreting _everything,_ when all he'd intended was to be nice. Well, that was embarrassing.

She had this epiphany while in the library and was glad there weren't many people around to see her cheeks flood with color. She'd been getting all worked up for _nothing!_ She'd spent hours fretting over something that wasn't even going to happen, and now she felt really silly.

Her train of thought was interrupted by Viktor Krum pulling up a chair at her table.

* * *

Fred didn't know how—and he would never dare to ask—George managed to clear the entire Common Room just seconds before Hermione entered.

They'd spent a while planning it out: how to ask her, what color sparklers to use, when to do it... George had given him a lot of advice, but the one thing he hadn't mentioned was how nerve-wracking it would be. Fred was just seconds away from deciding against it altogether; despite overhearing what Hermione had said to Ginny, he still wasn't sure he could do this and had, in fact, required a few shots of firewhiskey to work himself up to doing it.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he tossed the firework so that it was directly in her line of sight. She jumped, but then watched with interest as it bounced off the ceiling and wall, slowly spelling out _go to the Ball with me? _in purple and silver sparks.

"So...what d'you say?" he asked.

She looked _disappointed. _Not a good start. "Oh, Fred, I thought you weren't going to ask me," she said sadly. "I already said I'd go with someone else."

No, no, no... He should've just gone ahead and asked her, instead of doing something like this. He'd spent so much time getting it ready that someone else had been given an easy opportunity to swoop in and ask first. God _damn_ it. "Who?" he asked flatly, trying to hide his own disappointment best as he could. He left the question of _do I even want to know_ unasked.

"I..." She bit her lip, debating whether or not she should tell him. "Viktor Krum."

No, he didn't want to know.

Not only had he taken so much time that somebody else asked her first, a world-famous Seeker had gotten there before he had. Fred ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Well, that's just—that's _great._ Er, I hope you have a really great time." He turned to go back to his dorm, but Hermione called after him.

"Just—just so you know," she said, voice apologetic, "I would rather go with you."

Strangely enough, that did nothing to lift his spirits.

* * *

George's advice on this unexpected setback was to ask someone else. Not necessarily to make Hermione jealous, but to have a good time and not mope about the entire time. Though, he'd added with a gleam in his eye, it wouldn't be _horrible_ if it just _happened_ to make a certain girl jealous.

This was pathetic. Fred was stooping to the levels of second year girls, trying to make someone jealous—no, he wasn't—yes, he was, and this wasn't even going to work. Why be jealous of someone _he_ was dancing with when she had a Bulgarian Quidditch player on her arm?

Was Fred jealous?

Oh, yes.

And he would blame it on envy when he made a little mistake.

He was sitting with George, Ron, Harry, and Hermione when he shouted across the Common Room to ask Angelina to the Ball. _He asked another girl in front of Hermione._ He avoided eye contact with her, but he noticed the small shift—her shoulders slumped slightly, and her face fell a little.

Well, it was only fair that he got to have a date too, right?

* * *

"Mind if I cut in?"

Hermione drew her eyes from Krum's to see George standing next to them.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, but Krum shrugged. "I vill go get drinks," he offered.

"That should keep him for a while," George commented casually, grabbing Hermione's hand and dancing to the music.

"What do you mean?"

He nodded in Krum's direction, and she followed his gaze. Girls were rushing over to him, ignoring their own dates, though he was doing his best to stay away from them. "We need to talk."

"Did Fred put you up to this?" she asked suspiciously.

"No, I've been conspiring with an sister of mine who wishes to remain anonymous."

"You've only got one sister..." She rolled her eyes, scanning the room for other people she could escape to.

"Never mind that! I'm here to tell you that my _dashing_ twin was devastated when you told him that, not only were you already going to the Ball with someone else after he spent so long trying to perfect the firecrackers so he could ask you in a unique way—not that I'm trying to make you feel guilty! of course I wouldn't do that—but you had agreed to go with an international Quidditch star." He made a _tsk, tsk_ noise, like he was chastising her.

Hermione's eyes found Fred and Angelina. "Yeah, he seems _really_ cut up about it," she muttered, watching the pair dancing.

"Well, I mean, he does a good job at hiding it, but—" He stopped talking abruptly when Angelina planted a kiss on Fred's lips. "Damn it," he hissed.

"My thoughts exactly." She realized what she'd said and clapped her hand over her mouth. "Don't tell him I said that," she said, voice muffled by her hand. Her face turned pink and she waited for George's mockery, but it never came. He actually gave her a sympathetic frown.

"Ah, this wasn't really the plan. I've gotta go find Ginny, see if we can't save some of this night. And Krum's looking for you over there," he added before disappearing into the crowdand leaving Hermione wondering what _the plan_ was.

Admittedly, Hermione just wanted to go back upstairs and sleep, but she put on a bright smile and rejoined her date.

* * *

George yanked Ginny's arm, pulling her away from Neville. "I'll have her right back to you," he promised.

"George, what the hell?"

"Don't swear. Percy might hear you go run to mum."

"Okay, George, _why ever_ did you feel the need to drag me away from the dance floor?"

"Things were going smoothly until Angelina went and kissed Fred."

"Really? Because Krum seems to be the problem now." She pointed, and sure enough, Krum was ducking down to kiss Hermione.

"Maybe tonight _won't_ be the night those two realize their undying affection for each other, then?" he deduced sadly.

"Why is this so important to you?" Ginny asked curiously. Shouldn't George have focused more on his own love life—or lack thereof, really?

"No reason," he said unconvincingly. "It's just, do you ever see two people and think, wow, they belong together? Like with Mum and Dad. They argue sometimes and disagree on a lot, but anyone that gets near them knows how in love they are. I just kind of get that feeling when Hermione and Fred look at each other."

"That's one of the sweetest things I've ever heard." She fake-panicked, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Are you feeling okay? I should really go fetch Madam Pomfrey."

* * *

After Viktor left to go back to the ship, Hermione took the shortcut Fred had shown her; she didn't really feel like walking the long way in her dress and heels.

About halfway up the staircase, though, she stumbled upon a lip-locked Fred and Angelina.

She sped back down the stairs, trying not to get upset. Fred didn't belong to her; he had every right to kiss _whoever_ he wanted. And she'd attended the Ball with someone else. It wasn't even reasonable of her to care at all if he kissed Angelina. She'd had a perfectly good time with Krum, after all.

So why, when she got to her dormitory, did the smile slide off her face?

* * *

**Here **it is! I'm not really happy with this chapter, but...eh. Thanks to **Cassie-D1** and **krikanalo** for reviewing, and also **Gwen** the guest reviewer. Y'all are awesome!


	5. The Sun

Some things made perfect sense, but would never work out—no matter how simple it would seem for it to work out, it just wouldn't, for whatever reason. Fred and Angelina: they made sense. He was loud and she liked to yell. They both played Quidditch and had an affinity for making others laugh and didn't always play by the rules. After the Yule Ball, everyone kind of assumed the two would stay together.

Fred gave it his best effort, he did. Once he'd seen how friendly Hermione and _Viktor_ were with each other, he tried to push aside the thought of that brunette. She wasn't the only squid in the lake, after all. He and Angelina were never officially together, though; it was more of a convenience thing—if either of them ever needed a good snog, they turned to the other. But his mind always wandered to Hermione.

Other things make no sense at all. Nobody sees it being anywhere in the realm of realistic possibilities. But these seemingly impossible occurrences, they're meant to be. It will take time, maybe even years, but eventually, everything will fall into place and the improbable will happen.

Hermione and Fred were, by the very definition of it, improbable. But it would happen, with time.

* * *

"Fred's not dating Angelina," George announced in a hushed voice.

"Well I knew _that_ much," Ginny snipped, checking around to make sure no one was listening. It was breakfast and everybody was still in a dreary, half-awake state, so she was in luck; none of them seemed to care much what they were discussing.

"I mean, they've quit that—whatever it was they were keeping up. It's over. He told me last night that she's started seeing some seventh year from Ravenclaw. He didn't seem to care that much about it ending."

"Excellent." Under other circumstances, it might have seemed out of the ordinary for a girl to be so thrilled by the news that her older brother's not-quite-there relationship had fallen through, but this was not a normal circumstance. "Now if we could just Hermione to talk to him."

"She's been talking to him," George said. "Pretty polite, too."

Ginny shook her head. "She saw him and Angelina after the Yule Ball, and everyone's seen them being all couple-esque, so she figured he's lost interest, and now she's being overly obvious about want to be friends so she doesn't make a fool of herself by making it obvious that she _likes _him likes him."

Merlin, this was more complicated that it should have been. "Well, she's got Krum, so..."

Again, she shook her head. "She told me a few weeks ago that she sees him only as a friend."

"But she's the thing that he would miss most." He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Fred had ranted about _that_ for what felt like an eternity.

"Doesn't mean she'd miss _him_ the most."

George rubbed his temples wearily. "This is exhausting, y'know? Shouldn't it be easy? They belong together like Mum and Dad, like you and Harry—"

Fred sat next to him before she could craft a reply. "Why does Ginny look like she wants to hit you?" he asked conversationally, taking a sip of orange juice.

"No idea," George replied airily.

They ate in silence for a few minutes—well, Fred ate; Ginny and George seemed to be having a wordless conversation—before a shriek pierced through the calm. Their heads snapped up in alarm just in time to see Hermione sprinting from the room.

"You should follow her," said Ginny quietly.

He wanted to, but... "Shouldn't Harry or Ron do that? They know her best. Or Krum," he added bitterly.

George pressed his lips together tightly to keep from snickering. Ginny kicked him under the table. "I don't see either of them leaping up and rushing to her aid. C'mon, Fred."

He stood up, still unsure. "You know," he remarked, "it's weird how you two are always trying to get the two of us alone together."

He was gone just seconds before they burst out laughing.

Fred found Hermione in an empty hallway, sitting against the wall, knees under her chin and face in her hands—

Her _hands._

They were swollen to at least three times the normal size, with boils covering her fingers. He slid down the wall until he was on the floor, too. "What happened?"

"Fan mail," she said sardonically. At his perplexed look, she sighed. "It's because of Skeeter's article. Everyone seems to think I fucked Harry over somehow. One of them sent undiluted bubotuber pus in an envelope."

"They don't honestly believe—" One glance from her shut him up. "Even if you _had_ been Harry's girlfriend at one point, it shouldn't matter to them that you're with Krum now. It's your life, right?"

She laughed humorlessly. "That's the best part; I'm not even dating Viktor. We're _friends._ Merlin's sake, I'm friends with both of them, but the way that horrible woman painted the picture, you'd think I'm seeing both of them!" she fumed.

"Don't let it get to you."

"How can I _not_ let it get to me?"

"You know you're better than them—all of them. The people that make fun of you, the Slytherins, Rita Skeeter. Do you know_ why_ that bitch wrote that article? It's not to make people feel sorry for Harry or even Krum. It's because she doesn't like _you._ You stood up for Hagrid after she wrote about him. You got in her way, and she hated that. Also, you're everything she wishes she could be." He ticked off points on his fingers as he listed: "You're smart—no, brilliant. You're pretty. You've got friends. You're funny. She's none of that, and she sees you as a threat. That's why that Parkinson cow treats you so awfully, too."

Hermione started to smile. "Did you just call me pretty?"

Fred leaned like he was going to kiss her cheek, but changed his mind and hopped to his feet. "C'mon, we've gotta get you to Madam Pomfrey. It'd be a shame if your hands were stuck like that forever."

* * *

"Hermione, would you _calm down?"_ Ron begged. "You're shaking the entire stands."

"Sorry," she said shortly. She couldn't help it; she was on edge and was fighting to control her nerves. Her leg was bouncing rapidly and she was tapping her foot incessantly. Her fingers drummed on her thigh. She could not sit _still._

"He'll be _fine,"_ said Ron. "He defeated a dragon. He can survive a maze!"

"It's just...it's been such a long time. They've been in there for a while. How long does it take? Like you said, it's just a maze! It can't possible take this long!"

"You worry too much," Ginny told her, though she, too, was anxious for it to be over. It had been well over an hour since Harry and the others entered the maze, and only two sets of red sparks had been shot. Was it even possible that the remaining two champions were _still_ trying to find the end? "Have you seen Fred and George?"

"Nope. I think they were taking bets again."

Ginny had a snarky remark ready, but then there was a flash and two bodies hit the ground. "Oh my god," she whispered.

"Is that—" Ron cut himself off, not wanting to cause unnecessary concern.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, already running from the stands, tripping over other students' feet but not slowing down. When she got closer, she saw who was with Harry, and her knees buckled under her, hitting the soft ground.

* * *

The next several hours were a blur—being forced back with the rest of the terrified students, frantically pacing the hallway, finally being allowed to see Harry, catching Rita Skeeter as a beetle, not getting any answers, people bombarding her with questions the second she had to leave the hospital wing, making her way to her dormitory and being pounced on for answers by Lavender and Parvati. Hermione just wanted to get away and be alone for a little while, and the Common Room was eerily empty, so that's where she found herself early in the morning on June twenty-fifth.

She hated him, she really, truly _hated_ that man—if you could even call him that. He wasn't, _couldn't be_ human. Cedric was seventeen and he'd been killed just because he was _there._ What kind of person did that? She hadn't been close to Cedric, but his death really shook her. He was a prefect, a good student, a Hogwarts Champion, and a Hufflepuff, for god's sake. Who the hell killed a Hufflepuff? He got in the way, just once, and look where it got him.

An unwanted thought flitted through her head, one she'd been trying to avoid. What if _she_ got in the way? Cedric was unfortunate enough to be around Harry at precisely the wrong time, but she and Ron were with him almost constantly. Now that He was back, how long would it be before she was in the way?

"Hermione?" A croaky voice came through the silent room, breaking her out of her thoughts.

She turned to see Fred standing at the bottom of the boys' staircase, looking worse than she'd ever seen him—eyes red, face pale, what appeared to be tear smudges peppering his cheeks. "Are you okay?" she asked softly. _Stupid question._

He staggered over and sat on the couch with her. "We mocked him so much. Not to his face, but— Before Quidditch matches, we said some pretty awful things about him. And even this year, since he was competing against Harry. We were never outright _mean_ to him, but we ignored him for a good while. I don't know the last time I said something nice to him, and now..."

"And now you can't," she finished for him.

"I just wish I could've said something _nice_ to him, you know? All these opportunities I've had: bumping into him in corridors, accidentally-on-purpose leaving Canary Creams where he could get to them, cracking jokes about him... I could've just changed my mind and been friendly."

He looked at Hermione expectantly, waiting for her to give him advice or words of comfort or _something._ Instead, her shoulders were shaking and her lip was quivering. "Why? _Why_ do these things _happen?_"

"I don't know," Fred said honestly. He wanted nothing more right then than to give her an answer, but he didn't have one. Nobody did.

"This is just the beginning," she whispered, staring into the fire. "It's going to get worse. I've read all about the last time he had power. People were dying daily, disappearing, getting tortured. Good people, who should never have died. And they don't even have to be fighting. He'll come for—or he'll send his followers for—Muggle-borns and our families. They're going to try—try to destroy _everything."_ Tears were streaming down her cheeks. "And I just don't understand _why._"

Fred didn't know how to respond. What could he say to that? He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her against him, and they stayed like that until the sun began to shine through the window and other students started to join them.

* * *

Despite the horrific events that had taken place just hours earlier, the sun did indeed rise the next morning.

As students congregated, the sunlight served as a reminder to them all: no matter what happened, the sun would always rise.

They were about to descend into very dark times, but there would always be a ray of sunlight on the horizon, however distant.

* * *

**I **felt pretty bad about how sucky the last chapter was, so here's chapter 5 for you! And thanks so much to **krikanalo **and **Cassie-D1** for reviewing!


	6. Page of Pentacles

_CRACK_!

"God fucking _damn it, _Fred!"

Fred howled with laughter when Hermione jumped up and yelled in surprise at his sudden appearance. "Sorry, couldn't resist!" he said after she gave him a reproachful look.

"I don't see why you couldn't have just _walked_ up here," she grumbled, picking up her book and settling back onto the bed. She shouldn't have been so jumpy every time he Apparated around her; he and George did it enough, even to go just a few feet, that she should have been used to it.

"But where's the fun in that?" He made himself comfortable at the foot of her bed.

She sighed and put the book aside, knowing he wouldn't let her read as long as he was in there. "What do you want this time?"

He acted affronted. "What—are you telling me you don't enjoy my presence? I'll leave, if you really want me to..."

"Oh, shut up!" She threw a pillow at him.

"First you insult me, then you abuse me." He put a hand over his heart. "Remind me again why I'm friends with you?"

Hermione only smiled in response. Truth be told, she didn't have an answer for him. It was something she'd wondered herself—something that had, in fact, kept her up several nights this summer. She couldn't pinpoint an exact date that they had started to become friends, or give a reason that they were. They were very good friends, though, and that was all that mattered now.

Not that the thought of being something more never crossed her mind.

She still had a bit of a thing for him. More than a bit, actually, but he hadn't really given any signs of reciprocation, so friends is what they would be, and she was _just fine with that._

"Hermione!"

"Hmm?"

"I've been talking for a good five minutes and you haven't listened at all," Fred complained.

"Sorry. What were you saying?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "Nothing of any importance." Then he grinned slyly. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Of course."

"This is a _big_ secret," he said, "and I'm only going to say it once, so pay attention this time."

"You have my undivided attention," she said with mock seriousness.

"You know how George and I have been making a lot more products and doing more experimentation lately?" When she nodded, he continued, "Harry gave us his Triwizard winnings; that's how we've got enough money to do it."

"I know."

"Wait—he told you?" Fred had assumed it was a covert deal, and Harry wasn't even there yet, so that meant he'd written it down. Harry had put it in writing, where anyone—where Fred's _mother_—could read it?

"No. I figured it out myself."

"You're too clever for your own good, Granger," he said affectionately. Then he backtracked. "I just bared my soul to you and all you could think to say was _I know?"_

"I hardly consider that baring your soul to me," she scoffed.

"I don't care. That hurt my feelings." He pouted melodramatically.

She leaned over and kissed his forehead. "That make it better?"

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Yeah, it does."

* * *

"God fucking _damn it, _George," Fred said, not even noticing that he was mimicking Hermione's words from earlier.

"It's your own fault, you know."

Fred threw an arm over his face and groaned. "I didn't _mean to!"_

George sighed and patted his shoulder. "I know you didn't. And you're _sure_ she doesn't feel the same?"

"Why would she?" he asked pitifully, sitting up.

"You've gotta quit this feeling sorry for yourself thing. It's not very becoming. C'mon, let's try out some Nosebleed Nougats!" he said, clapping his hands with pseudo enthusiasm. When Fred didn't react at all, he sighed wearily. "Okay, have you tried—I dunno—telling her how you feel?"

"_When_ would I have had that opportunity?"

"Er—" He pondered for a moment. "After Dig—ah, Cedric's funeral?" He'd been making an effort to call him by his first name since his death.

Hermione had cried on his shoulder for almost the entirety of the funeral. "How the hell would I have done that? _Hey, so I know this isn't the best time, seeing as you're currently sobbing over the death of a classmate, but I fancy you._ THAT would've gone over well."

"Point taken. How about one of the many times you've decided to scare the hell out of her by Apparating practically on top of her? And that one time you _did_ land on her?"

"That was an accident!" But he managed to crack a smile. "So," he said, brightening and changing the subject. "What was that about Nosebleed Nougats?"

* * *

Everyone residing at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place heard the row—no Extendable Ears required.

It started calmly enough; Fred was just asking about the Order. It escalated quickly, though, and it was just a few minutes before he and Molly were full-on shouting at each other. "You are a _child, _Fred! My child!"

"I'm of age!" he roared in response.

"You're still a student, and as long as you're living under my roof—"

"This isn't your house!"

"Nevertheless," she went on, like that wasn't even relevant. "Your father and I think it's best for you and George to finish school before you even _think_ about joining."

"Really?" he snapped. "Does Dad really think that, or is he just agreeing with you to shut you up?" He knew he was dangerously close to crossing the line, but he'd had enough of his mother treating him like a little kid. He was seventeen, plenty old enough to know something about what his parents and siblings and friends of the family were risking their lives for.

"Either way, Fred, you're too young to join."

"You would've let Percy!"

There it was. That was the step too far. She looked like she'd been slapped, and for a second he thought she was going to start crying, but she recovered quickly and said coolly, "You're right. I _would_ have. Because Percy has always been more mature. He has a bigger sense of the world."

"And I don't?" he yelled. "I know what's going on out there! I don't see Percy busting down the door to try and help, but I'm here _begging _to have a shot at this, for you to let me lend a wand, but you're still so hung up on the golden child who turned his back on this family that you can't see further than that!" He was done talking about perfect prefect Percy and didn't want to hear what she had to say to that, so with a _crack_ he Disapparated.

A few minutes later, while he was still fuming in his room, there was a soft knock at the door. "Fuck off!"

"It's me," came a small voice. _Hermione. _"Can I come in?"

He wanted to say yes, but he wasn't in the right state to talk to anybody, so he chose to stay silent.

The sound of retreating footsteps told him that she had taken the hint, and he found himself wishing that she hadn't.

* * *

Hermione was very glad when Harry finally showed up. After the initial stress associated with his arrival—the shouting and the painfully uncomfortable dinner the first night—he had diffused a large amount of the tension that had settled on the house. Of course, there was still a palpable feeling of awkwardness whenever Molly and Fred were in the same room, but that had to go away eventually. Didn't it?

Harry brought up the untouched subject right then, when Ron wasn't around. "D'you have any idea what's going on with Fred and Mrs. Weasley?" he asked Hermione while they cleaned another spare room.

"They had a fight just a couple nights before you got here. Fred brought Percy into it, Molly all but called him a child, and they haven't been on good terms since." She shuddered, thinking about all of the shouting from that night. Even Sirius and Lupin had cowered at all the noise coming from the kitchen.

"Has anyone tried talking to him about it?"

Hermione shrugged. "George, I guess. I did, but he didn't really want to talk."

"You should try again," he suggested. "He takes what you say to heart, y'know? And I'd love it if we could go a day without their mum breaking down and sobbing."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll try," she muttered, standing and brushing dust off her knees. It fell back to the carpet, getting lost in the thick layer of dust that had collected in the room after years without an occupant.

She approached Fred's door again with the smallest feeling of trepidation and knocked. This time, he called her in.

"Can we talk?" she asked quietly, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to where he sat with his back against the wall.

"About?"

"You and your mother..."

He sighed, having seen that coming. "What about us?"

"Look, I'm not taking sides in it—you've both got valid points and you're also both wrong—but I do feel sorry for her. She was _devastated_ when you started talking about Percy like that. That's still such a fresh wound. I know you were angry, and you're probably still pretty upset with her, but she's your mum. You should apologize."

"Not taking sides, eh?" he asked sarcastically, leaning his head on her shoulder. "I'll apologize," he mumbled. "I just hate that I'm _still_ in Percy's shadow. You'd think that after everything he said, she'd have a lower opinion of him, but it's all the same."

"It'll get better. Just give it some time."

* * *

Fred listened to Hermione's advice. It took some time, but the night before they went back to Hogwarts, he found his mother alone in the kitchen. "Mum, I'm, er, I'm sorry. For what I said about Per—_him._ I was out of line, and I didn't mean it."

"Yes you did," Molly said. She wasn't being argumentative; she was stating a fact. "You _did_ mean it, Fred, and we both know that. And I meant what I said, but I'm sorry, too. It's hard sometimes for me to accept that you're growing up, because it feels like it was only a few _days _ago that you were three years old and our world was finally safe for the first time in over a decade, and now—and now, you're old enough to make your own decisions just when it starts to get dark again," she choked.

Fred did something he hadn't done in a very long time. He hugged his mother. "I'm not going to do anything stupider than usual just because I'm old enough, Mum. I've been making stupid decisions since the day I was born."

She gave a watery laugh.

"Look, I'll quit about joining the Order. _For now._ But the day I graduate—"

"Then I'll have to accept that you've grown up and you can do what you want to," she finished glumly.

He nodded. "But until then, I'll shut up about it."

* * *

"Hermione, you _wonderful human being,_ you—"

"What do you want, Fred?" she cut in, looking around to see if she could spot the other new prefects. She thought she caught a glimpse of a badge on Hannah Abbott's shirt.

"You were right."

"I know," she said, still not entirely involved in the conversation.

"You don't know what I was talking about!"

"Yeah, but I'm usually right."

"Well, this time in particular, you were right about me and my mum. We both apologized, everything's okay."

"Took you long enough," she muttered. _No._ Was Draco Malfoy sporting a prefect badge?

"You just _can't_ let me be happy, can you?" He glanced in the direction she was looking and spotted that Malfoy kid wearing a prefect badge, and quickly swallowed a laugh. "Well, I s'pose you won't be accepting my offer to sit with me on the train, with company like Ickle Ronniekins and the Bouncing Ferret."

She looked at him with confusion. "You didn't offer—"

"It was an implied offer. Ah well, I've got business to attend to." With a wink, he disappeared into the crowd.

Hermione didn't dwell on that for long. She was too excited. It was her fifth year—O.W.L. year!—and she was a prefect, and no matter what was happening in the world, no matter who the other prefects were, she had a sense that this year, things were going to work out just fine.

* * *

**If** I ever start a band, we'll be called Ickle Ronniekins and the Bouncing Ferret, I think. Thanks to **Cassie-D1**, **krikanalo,** and **AgentBrenna** for reviewing, and to everyone that's favorited, followed, and read it so far!


	7. Five of Cups

The year wasn't necessarily off to a _bad_ start. Harry was angsty and would start shouting at the drop of a hat, neither he nor Ron paid any attention and thus needed to copy Hermione's work more often than not, the Weasley twins were attempting to experiment on first years who didn't know any better, the professors were suddenly expecting much more than normal, Umbridge was possibly the worst person she had ever encountered, and she had prefect duties on top of everything else, but Hermione was maintaining her positive outlook. _Somehow_ this year was going to turn out to be one of the best.

And no matter what, she'd be sure to tweak it in her letters home so that nothing was too negative. Her parents knew, of course, that Voldemort was back, but she wasn't about to tell them that she wasn't learning anything about defending herself. She would instead write about the privileges of being a prefect and maybe something about Hagrid, even though he was still mysteriously absent.

"Oh, Miss Granger," Fred said in a sing-song voice, jerking her attention from her thoughts.

Hermione looked up from her dinner and raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I was just wondering—"

She thought she knew where this was going and elected to nip it in the bud. "You're not getting back the Skiving Snackboxes that I confiscated," she said sternly. "You can't test them out on eleven year olds!"

"That's not even why I'm here! And frankly, I'm offended that you think that's the only reason I'd talk to you." He gave her a fake glare.

"Sorry, go on, then."

"I was just wondering if you had any plans for September 19th, say around eight?"

Hermione smiled. She'd been so caught up in start-of-year things that she had forgotten her birthday was in two days, but Fred clearly hadn't. Come to think of it, how did he even know when her birthday was? She couldn't remember ever mentioning it to him. "Not that I know of, no."

With a huge grin, he said, "Well, don't make any. I've got a surprise for you."

After he left, Ron gave Hermione an odd sideways look. "What was that about?"

Ron had been acting strangely about Fred since—well, since the beginning of the school year. Not in a jealous sort of way, but he almost seemed _protective._ Like Hermione was his sister and he wasn't sure if he was _ready_ for her to be around other boys yet. The same way he treated Ginny. "What was what about?" she asked innocently.

"You know what. _Him._ What does he want to know if you're busy on your birthday for?" He asked it as though the idea of someone else wanting to make plans with her was the most preposterous thing he'd ever heard.

"Can't imagine," she said dryly.

* * *

"That _foul_ woman—that horrible excuse for a human being—shouldn't be allowed to teach! She shouldn't be allowed around children!"

Harry and Ron exchanged a look. They had never heard Hermione speak that way about a professor. Not Snape, when he had threatened to poison them, or the many times he had insulted her and her friends. Not Lupin during the very brief time that she had thought he was evil and wanted to kill Harry. Not Lockhart, when he was discovered to be a fraud. She had only expressed disapproval when Moody—or who they thought at the time to be Moody—when he not only showed a class of fourteen year olds the three Unforgivable Curses, but went on to put each of them under the Imperius Curse. Even Professor Trelawney, whose class Hermione had abandoned, only received skeptical looks and exasperated sighs from her.

But Umbridge was a whole different story. "Can't you tell what she's doing? She doesn't want us to know how to defend ourselves, how to fight. She's a pawn for the Ministry, and she _loves it._ She _revels_ in the thought that she's doing the Ministry's bidding. She makes me _sick._"

"I know it's your birthday so we're more obligated than usual to listen to your borderline neurotic rants," Ron said slowly. "But don't you think you're going a bit far?"

"Oh, pardon me for caring about my education," she snapped. "And yours, for that matter. Don't you get it, Ron? This is when we need to learn defensive spells the most! He's out there, right now, starting to gain power and followers, and we're here reading a useless book!"

That got Ron and Harry's attention. Hermione Granger had just called a book useless. She was really serious about this. "Well what're we supposed to do about it?" Ron asked. "She's already punished anyone who speaks up."

"We can't openly rebel. We'll have to be more subtle about it. But we can't keep up like this—this is just pathetic. We're not learning anything, and all she's doing is perpetuating the lies that the Ministry is spoon-feeding the masses. We _know better!_" She smacked the table for emphasis. "We know what's out there, what we'll be up against one day, but she doesn't want us to _know_ things! What's a class without knowledge?"

Harry gave her a few minutes to calm down before he said, "Hermione, while we _love _seeing you lose it like this, it's eight thirty."

"So?" she asked distractedly.

"Wasn't Fred supposed to meet you in here at eight?"

The change in her demeanor was almost imperceptible, and all she said was, "Maybe he's running a bit late."

"A bit late" became "really late," which turned into "unacceptable late," and most of the students had trickled out of the Common Room. At around midnight, Ginny and Hermione were the last ones remaining. Hermione was working on Ancient Runes homework and Ginny was watching her carefully. She hadn't shown any signs of disappointment at her date falling through. (Although Ginny knew that if she called it that, Hermione would adamantly deny that it was a date.) Finally, with an annoyed sigh, Ginny stood up, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "I am going to _strangle_ him!" and went to bed.

As soon as Ginny was gone, Hermione let the uncaring pretense fall. She _was_ upset about this. It had now been more than four hours since he said they'd meet, and she was starting to think this was some kind of cruel joke.

The worst part was that she'd thought Fred was better than this, that he was more mature than to make plans with a girl and then ditch her. She realized, though, that no matter how much she liked him, she didn't know him all that well.

* * *

Lee Jordan proposed a night of drinking, and Fred agreed, but told him he had to be back in time for his plans with Hermione, so they snuck out of the castle earlier than usual. Unfortunately, their table at the Hog's Head was far from a clock, and as he typically did on nights like these, Fred lost track of time.

It only felt like a couple of hours before George was standing up and saying, "We should probably head back. Don't want to miss your date."

"It's not a date," Fred argued.

"But you want it to be," George pointed out, smirking when Fred didn't deny it.

"Is he still on that Granger girl?" Lee asked.

George nodded. "Hasn't given up."

"How tragic."

"You know, Jordan, that's what I thought for the first few months," George began before the trio Disapparated and landed in the cellar of Honeydukes and started the ascent towards the castle. "But I think the _real_ tragedy is that he still thinks it's one-sided, and so does Hermione, so neither of them acts on their affections."

Lee and George continued to discuss it until Fred cleared his throat. "Guys, I'm right here, so unless you've got something useful to say..."

They had reached the Fat Lady anyway, so there wasn't much time for them to continue chatting about Fred's potential love life. "Er—do either of you remember the password?" George asked.

"Ah, it's that, that _thing_ Neville Longbottom has. It's a plant," said Fred, trying to think of it and coming up blank.

"Starts with an M, doesn't it?" Lee added.

The three stood and bickered over the password for a few minutes before a quiet voice suggested, "Mimbulus Mimbletonia?"

"That's it!" Lee cried with excitement before George elbowed his ribs.

None of them had noticed the portrait hole swinging open, but there stood Hermione, just barely inside the Common Room. "I heard you guys trying to remember the password," she explained, not looking at Fred. "I figured I'd let you in or you'd be stuck out here till morning." Her expression clearly said _I should've left you out here._

"What time is it?" Fred asked nervously.

She checked over her shoulder at the large clock. "Half past two." She turned and went to collect her books, having dozed off and woken to find them scattered on the floor.

"Shit," Fred hissed to himself. "Hermione, I—I'm sorry. Can we reschedule?"

"No," she said simply.

"It wasn't on purpose," he protested. "I didn't realize how much time had gone by. Can't we just... I mean, I know it wouldn't be _on_ your birthday, but I _did_ have a decent plan, we could just do it another day?" He was pleading and was half-considering getting on his knees and _really_ begging.

"No," she repeated. "Why should I believe you'll actually show up then?"

"I meant to show up this time, I swear. It was an accident!"

Before going up to her own dormitory, where he couldn't follow her, she said three short words, "I don't care."

* * *

**I** hate this chapter, and the next one's not that great either. Thanks to **krikanalo **and **93 Diagon Alley** for reviewing!


	8. Two of Swords

If anybody thought that Hermione's anger would die out, they were painfully mistaken.

Fred tried. Starting the day after her birthday, he tried his very best. He gave her chocolate, which she just passed on to Ron and Harry, who were never ones to turn down food. He gave her flowers that he took from one of the greenhouses, though he failed to notice what kind, and one ended up biting Hermione's wrist; she'd been forced to skip Transfiguration so that Madam Pomfrey could remove the plant and repair the damage it caused to the ligaments; she'd had to wear a bandage for three days. He bewitched a suit of armor to serenade her, which was an awful idea from its inception, as all of the witnesses would attest to after hearing its rendition of a Celestina Warbeck song. He even gave a shot at talking to her a few times, but she acted like she hadn't heard him. He had the house-elves bake an apology cake, which he iced himself. This gesture may have broken her resolve to ignore him, but a younger student chose that moment to eat a Canary Cream, and Hermione's scowl returned. There was no denying that Fred _really_ tried.

But it was all in vain.

She remained furious for weeks. Sometimes, it was only obvious to those who knew her best, who noticed things like the way she clenched her fork so tightly her knuckles turned white when Fred threw himself into the seat across from her at breakfast, or how she skipped over him entirely when she was looking around the Common Room, or how she flipped the pages of a book more violently when he was in the same room as her. Sometimes, it was so subtle that, if it hadn't been made clear to the entire school that she was pissed at him, nobody would have known. Sometimes, it was clear enough that anyone within earshot knew she was pissed, like when Fred said something to George about forgetting a homework assignment and she loudly said, "Well, we all know you're pretty forgetful!"

And then there were times that anybody could see it, no matter if they barely knew who she was until recently.

Harry paired everyone up at the Dumbledore's Army meeting to practice _Expelliarmus._ Ginny had suggested that he make Hermione and Fred hex each other; it would let Hermione vent some of her frustration in a physical manner, and it would force the two together. He thought it was a good idea, until Fred hit the floor.

"Hermione!" Harry bellowed across the room. "You were only supposed to _disarm_ him!"

"Gosh, I am _so_ sorry. I just got carried away," she said unapologetically, eyeing the unconscious redhead with distaste.

* * *

After Harry and the Weasley twins got kicked off the Quidditch team and banned from playing indefinitely, everyone in Gryffindor walked on eggshells around them. They made sure to steer clear of Harry and George, especially, since they were the ones who had beat the living hell out of Malfoy, and if they had to converse with any of the three, they did their best to keep conversations light.

And they didn't _dare_ say the word Quidditch. Fred seemed particularly sensitive to the word, and would whip his head around whenever he even heard it in passing. He was hit the hardest by it, since he hadn't done anything. For the first time, he was being punished for something he had absolutely no part in. It was a tough concept to wrap his head around; generally, when he was in trouble for something, he did it, and that was that. But this time—this time was different. Everyone was being exceptionally nice to Fred; a sixth year he couldn't recall ever speaking to had offered to do his homework for him, Lee had been bringing him food when he didn't feel like leaving the Gryffindor tower, and a few people had even offered to test Skiving Snackboxes for free.

There was one witch who showed no mercy, though, and just one day after what was being referred to as The Incident, Hermione gave Fred detention for selling Fainting Fancies to a second year. She was harsh and quick about it, not giving him a chance to argue before she'd turned and went on her way again, a smug smile playing at her lips.

* * *

Fred's blood was boiling by the time he returned to the Common Room at almost midnight. He'd spent the past _four hours_ polishing trophies, and he thought he might just prefer Umbridge's brand of punishment to this. He couldn't _believe_ Hermione, giving him detention for something so insignificant. His anger had had time to build while he shined various awards for services to the school—mostly for rich families—so when the Fat Lady closed behind him, he was ready to go sleep it off before he acted on that anger.

As luck would have it, a certain bushy-haired girl was waiting for him, looking smaller than usual, curled up with her knees beneath her chin. "Fred, um, can I talk to you for a second?" she asked quietly.

"Why the hell did you give me detention, Hermione? It wasn't that big of a deal!" And then, because the amount of time he'd spent there was aggravating and he wanted to make sure she knew, he added, "Four. fucking. hours!"

"I—"

"Are you _still_ bitter about your birthday?" he snapped. "Because I apologized and I tried to make it up to you and I don't know what else you want from me! You've gotta let that go, because this is getting ridiculous. But I'm sure you're about to tell me how I _deserved_ it and I need to be a better example for the younger students, or maybe threaten to write to my mum, so go ahead."

"No," she said coolly, and if Fred had looked closer, he would have noticed that her eyes were filled with tears. "If you'd let me finish, I was going to say that _I_ was sorry. I overreacted and I wasn't fair and I'm sorry. That's _all_ I was going to say!" And with that, she got up and stormed off, leaving Fred feeling horrible.

* * *

"Ginny said Hermione was crying at breakfast," George said during Charms. "Well, not really _crying,_" he amended. "What she said was that she looked like she was trying not to cry and kept wiping her eyes but wouldn't say what was wrong. What did you _do?_"

"Fucked up again," Fred said cheerfully. "That's what I do when it comes to Hermione. Haven't you noticed? Merlin, I should just give up."

George sighed. "You don't _always_ fuck up. I mean, sure, you've messed up a few pretty easy opportunities, but you've still got a chance."

"Who are we kidding? She won't even _look_ at me now. Not much else I can do but accept it." He shrugged dejectedly.

With another sigh, he realized that it was going to take a lot to get Fred and Hermione to work out their issues. And he knew just the person to ask for help.

* * *

It was Ginny who devised the plan, worked out the details. It was George who figured out how they would do it, who offered to bribe the other residents of his dormitory to find other sleeping quarters for the night; they left willingly, though, because they wanted Fred's angst to be over so he would shut the hell up for five seconds.

So late one night, Ginny ran down the stairs and burst into the Common Room, grabbing Hermione by the arm. "Hermione, come quick! I think something's wrong with George! He—he was trying out a new Snackbox and—and, well, you'll see."

Convinced by Ginny's look of absolute panic, Hermione went with her without suspecting a thing. But the second she stepped into the seventh year boys' dormitory, Ginny quickly shut the door behind her. There was a loud whirring noise, and the knob wouldn't turn.

The only other person in the room was a bewildered Fred. "Er, George?" he asked cautiously. "What's going on?"

"You two aren't coming out of there until you've sorted through everything!" he called from the other side of the door.

"Why won't it open?" Hermione wondered aloud, throwing her entire weight into trying to get it to budge.

"Handy little device we created. Sticks the door and won't let it open until _I_ take it off." She could actually _hear_ the smirk in George's voice.

"Then take it off?" Hermione suggested, voice rising.

"I will after I decide that you two are getting along."

Ginny gave what sounded like a maniacal cackle. "So start talking!"

* * *

**Another** chapter I'm not so fond of, but the next one makes up for it! (At least, I think it does.) Huge thanks to **krikanalo** and **93 Diagon Alley** for reviewing!


	9. The Lovers

"_Alohamora!"_

"Hermione! If it didn't work the first three times, what makes you think it's going to work now?"

"It was worth a shot. Better to spend my time trying to get out of here than waste it..." She trailed off, but Fred understood what she meant.

"Than waste it chatting with me?" She didn't deny it. "So you're still pissed?"

"No!" she snapped. "I just..."

"You don't want to forgive me," he suggested, not bothering to hide his resentment at the statement.

"I don't know, Fred. Stop trying to finish my sentences like you know what I'm going to say. You don't know me well enough to do that. You don't know me at all." She wasn't really angry at him at the moment. But the situation wasn't good and he was the only one there that she could direct her anger towards. She gave up on the door and sank onto one of the unoccupied beds.

"I'm, ah, sorry you have to be stuck in here with me."

"Yeah, me too." A few short months ago, this wouldn't have seemed so daunting. Now, though, she couldn't wait to get out.

He was silent for a long time, long enough that Hermione thought that he was going to leave her alone, just sitting on his bed and fiddling with a tear in his jeans. And then, so quietly she barely heard, he whispered, "You're right."

"What's that?" She was accustomed to hearing the phrase—in a non-conceited kind of way, she would feel weird if she went a day _without_ someone telling her she was right—but it was the _way_ he said it, softly and sorrowfully, like he didn't _want_ her to be right this time. It almost made her want to be wrong, just so he wouldn't look so depressed.

"You're right," he repeated. "I _don't_ know you that well, and that makes me sad, because I really wish I did." He stared determinedly at the floor as he continued, "I would _love_ to really get to know you, but something always goes wrong. I don't ask you to the Yule Ball in time, so you end up going with someone else. I make plans for your birthday and then get caught up drinking with my idiot brother and friend and you get upset. You give me detention for something small, and I make it worse by yelling at you when you try to apologize, and now here we are, and I can't help but think it's my fault that I don't know you as well as I'd like to."

She blinked at him. "It's not _all_ your fault," she mumbled.

"It mostly is, though. Don't deny it."

"Okay. I won't."

Fred was sure that was going to be the end of the conversation and that they would be stuck together until breakfast, and he had resigned himself to the reality of sitting in silence with her for the next several hours when, after another few moments had passed, Hermione said, "We could change that."

"Change what?"

"That we don't know each other that well."

Was she being serious, or was she just going to further reject his attempts at civil conversation in a more complicated way? "And how do you propose we do that?"

"Twenty questions."

"Am I supposed to know what that means, or—"

"It's a Muggle game," she explained. "You usually play it with someone you just met, to get to know them better. You take turns asking questions. George and Ginny said they won't let us out until we're getting along again, and that's by their definition of _getting along,_ so instead of sitting here and waiting for them to let us out and getting even angrier at each other—"

"I'm not—"

She pretended he hadn't said anything. "—then why don't we play it? Ten questions each, anything you want to ask."

Well, it was certainly better than not talking. "Fine. You go first."

It was always easy to come up with questions until you _had _to, so the first one that came to mind was simple: "Favorite color?"

He laughed. It was a short bark of a laugh, but it was better than nothing. "Going easy on me, Granger? Navy blue." This would be a breeze.

"Your turn," she prompted.

"Oh, right. First kiss?"

"Just gonna jump right into it, aren't we?" she muttered. "Viktor Krum, at the Yule Ball."

"Lovely." He regretted asking. He should have asked something less personal, less likely to have an answer that would irk him.

"I don't normally like to repeat questions, but since you asked, it's only fair: first kiss?"

"Alicia Spinnet, second year."

"You were _twelve?!_" she yelped judgmentally, also regretting the question._  
_

"Hey, it was for my birthday. I was thirteen!" He felt the strong need to defend it. Also, he thought that maybe first kiss stories were sometimes better left undiscussed. Some things should remain mysteries. "Favorite book?"

"Everyone knows that," she laughed. "_Hogwarts, A History._"

"Right, should've guessed that. Guess it's hard to come up with good questions."

"Best memory?" Hermione asked, preparing for a tale about blowing something up or flying a car or breaking rules or somehow angering his mother.

"The Quidditch World Cup," he answered immediately, taking her by surprise. "I mean, not what happened afterwards—"

"You _did_ Stun a Death Eater," she said. "That's gotta rank pretty high on your list of best memories."

Fred grinned. "You make it sound so impressive, Hermione."

"Isn't it?" She didn't say it out loud, but she'd always been a bit in awe at that. Now that they had Dumbledore's Army, she was confident that she, too, could Stun or disarm a Death Eater if the situation called for it, but Fred had done that the previous summer, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't impressed.

"Eh, I guess. What was the first time you accidentally used magic?"

She thought for a minute. "Well, my mum and dad said I used to make things move all the time when I was really little, but the first time I can remember was when I was six, and there was a book on the top shelf I couldn't reach, and the librarian wouldn't help me get it down, so I just stared at it really hard, like I was hoping it would fly off the shelf, _and it did._"

"Of _course_ it has to do with a book. You're so predictable," he said fondly.

"Well, what else would it have been about?" she asked. Books were her entire childhood. "Hmm... favorite food?"

"Merlin, you're asking the easiest questions. Puking Pastilles," he joked. "No, definitely Fizzing Whizbees."

"My parents would say that candy isn't real food." Her parents, Hermione thought, would have a heart attack if they ever set foot in Honeydukes.

"They're...dentists, right?" Then, just to be safe, he added, "That's not my question."

"They are. _How_ did you remember that?" She'd only said it in front of him three or four times at the most. "And that's not _my_ next question."

His face went red. "Y'know," he fumbled for words awkwardly, "you said it, and I just—I pay attention to what you say."

Hermione resisted the urge to point out how sweet that was. "Uh, your turn, isn't it?"

"Right. Er, what's your boggart?" After he asked it, he realized that that might have been a little _too_ personal; he was basically asking her what her deepest, darkest fear was. His mother, for example, saw each of them dead in turn; that wasn't a topic you brought up in casual conversations. She _had_ said he could ask anything, though.

Now Hermione started to blush. "It's really stupid..."

"You said I can ask whatever I want."

"I see Professor McGonagall telling me I've failed my exams," she said quickly, hoping he didn't catch it.

He did. "Oh, wow." Then he wanted to smack himself for that response. "I mean, uh—"

"Silly, right? Voldemort's out there, gaining power as we speak, building his army; there's dementors roaming around. But my biggest fear is _failing._"

"That's not silly," he argued. "That's actually really admirable. You're not afraid of You-Know-Who or dementors, the things most wizards are scared to death by. Because you're, as they say, the brightest witch your age. Which is why failure is such a big fear to you—because that's what you've always relied on, being clever. _You_ failing should be everyone you know's boggart, because so many of us have also relied on you at one point or another, and I'm really rambling now, so... Your turn!"

She could've kissed him right then, and almost said as much, but thought better of it. "How many detentions have you had?"

"One hundred and twenty-seven." At the surprised look on her face, he said, "I like to keep track."

"Sorry, I just figured you'd give me an estimation, that's all—wait, _a hundred and twenty-seven?"_

"Yeah... Anyways. Why do you care so much about house-elfs?"

"I believe in equal rights, and they deserve fair treatment," Hermione said firmly. "Did you design the thing George locked us in here with?"

"I, er, may have been integral in the planning process. Meaning, yes, it's one of my creations..." He quickly asked his next question, "Are you still mad at me?"

Hermione thought for a while, not on her answer, because she was sure of that, but on how to word it. She went with short and sweet. "No, I'm not. Haven't been for a while, to be honest."

"Then why—"

"My turn! Why is navy blue your favorite color?"

_Who asks WHY someone has their favorite color,_ Fred wondered. "My mum knits me a navy sweater every year. I s'pose I've grown attached to it."

"Cute," she said, smirking.

"If you're not still mad, then why did you act like it for so long?"

_Damn it._ "Because it was easier to keep being angry—or pretending to—than admit that it _really_ hurt." Her voice got faster as she talked. "It was just like—you'd forgotten about me, or something. I know you _didn't,_ but that's how it felt, like you got so caught up with other stuff that I wasn't important enough to remember and that hurt a _lot,_ but I didn't want you to know that, so I figured if I just acted angry about it, you'd get the point that I wasn't happy with you without actually knowing that I'd cried over it."

Fred was stunned and a fresh wave of guilt washed over him. "I'm sorry, really."

"I know." She held up a hand to stop him when he opened his mouth. "My turn, remember? Okay, so in my second year, when Malfoy called me a—called me a Mudblood, and the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team tried to kill him? _Why _did you care? You hardly knew me at all back then."

"I don't know, truthfully. I guess because you were my little brother's best friend, and you were only twelve, and you didn't even _know_ what that awful word means, and you were a fellow Gryffindor, and Dad's always hated the Malfoys. I don't know, it just seemed like the right thing to do. What do you want to do after Hogwarts?"

"No fucking clue," she said, shaking her head. "Nothing in Magical Law, but, I dunno. I should probably figure that out soon. Why are you looking at me like that?"

"It's still weird to hear you swear, that's all. And I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that wasn't your actual question."

"No, but this is: Do you think you'll ever forgive Percy?"

"I don't think so," said Fred. He had the slightest trace of sadness on his face, but it was only there for a fleeting second. "How are you able to say You-Know-Who's name so easily?"

"It wasn't so easy at first," Hermione admitted. "But Dumbledore said that fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself. Why be afraid to say his name? If there's a chance I might be facing him one day, I don't want to be so scared of him that I can't even say his name. You should try it!"

"I—I don't know." He took a deep breath and shakily whispered, _"V-Voldemort."_

"You did it!" she crowed. "Okay, last question. If you could change one thing you've done, what would it be?"

"You're ending on an easy one."

"Really? That's one of the hardest questions I know."

"Summer before last, when I came outside in the middle of the night and—"

"Scared me out of a tree and then said I have no sense of humor?" she suggested wryly.

"Yeah. When we fell out of the tree. If I could go back, I would've kissed you then."

Hermione couldn't suppress a grin, and she slid off the bed and approached him. She was planning on kissing him, but the door flew open.

"Sorry," George yawned. "Would've opened it sooner, but we fell asleep." He gestured to Ginny, who was slumped over on the stairs. "It's about a quarter to five, if either of you wants to try and get some sleep."

Fred looked at Hermione and said, "I have a question."

"Haven't we asked enough of those," she teased.

"I only got the chance to ask nine!"

"Oh, go ahead."

"Have you ever seen the sunrise from the top of the Astronomy Tower?"

What a weird question. "No."

"Me neither."

There was a brief pause, during which George made his way to his own bed and collapsed onto it.

Fred grinned brightly and grabbed Hermione's hand. "Let's go!"

* * *

**I** dunno, I really like this chapter. It was actually the first one I wrote for this. Thanks to **93 Diagon Alley** and **krikanalo** for reviewing!


	10. Judgement

"So...let me get this straight," said Ron, looking positively livid. "You _both_ got detention? As in, together?"

"Yes, that's right." Hermione winced as Ron stabbed his steak more viciously than she thought was necessary. "I don't see the problem." There _was_ a problem—she, Hermione Granger, had detention—what would her _parents_ think? But she knew that wasn't what he was getting worked up about.

"The problem is—well, can't you _see_ the problem, Hermione?" He exhaled sharply. "Could you tell me what exactly you were doing at five in the morning with my brother to get detention?"

"How is that _any_ of your business?" she asked testily. She was beginning to regret the decision to forgo sleep, as every little thing was irritating her. Especially Ron.

"As a prefect," he said in a tone that was meant to be haughty, though the large bite of food in his mouth nullified that effect, "I have a right to know what my siblings are up to in case I need to write to Mum about it."

"Oh, _now_ you're interested in getting him in trouble?"

Fred dropped into the vacant seat next to Hermione. "We've got detention at eight with _her,"_ he grumbled.

Hermione gasped. "But... I figured it'd be with Professor Snape."

He laid his head on the table. "No, he reported it straight to her, not dear old Snape. I am going to _kill_ Malfoy."

"Would _anyone_ care to tell me what's going on?" Ron asked angrily, not missing how Hermione's hand went to play with Fred's hair absently.

Ginny joined their group at the table and started to load up her plate. "Merlin, I'm _starving,_" she said to no one in particular. "What's wrong with him?" she added with a gesture to Fred.

"We've got detention with Umbridge," Hermione said.

Ginny's jaw dropped. "What did you _do?_"

"Nothing!" she exclaimed defensively. "It's your fault, anyway."

"My fault? How?"

"Yours and George's," Fred corrected, like that was a very important detail.

Ron's interested was piqued. "How did Ginny and George land you in detention?" he asked, looking between them.

Before anybody could answer, Harry threw his bag down at the table. "I'm going to _murder_ Malfoy!" he said savagely.

"Join the club," Fred said irritably, forehead still resting on the table. "What'd he do to you?"

"Took fifteen points from Gryffindor because I dropped a quill on his shoe."

"We've got it worse," said Fred.

"What do you mean, _we?_" Harry asked, suddenly suspicious.

George squeezed in between Harry and Ginny. "Ah, the gang's all here!" he crowed happily before glancing around at everyone. Ginny was glancing between Fred to Hermione with an expression of mild interest, Harry looked positively homicidal, Ron looked more frustrated and confused than usual, Fred was now banging his head on the table repeatedly, and Hermione was both exhausted and angry. "What did I miss?"

"I wouldn't know," said Ron. "No one's telling me anything!"

"Would you shut _up?"_ Hermione demanded. "It's nothing bad!" She looked at George and Ginny. "So last night, after you two _finally_ let us out of the dormitory—"

"Wait, what?" Ron interrupted loudly.

Ginny grinned guiltily. "I s'pose a little background is necessary here, Ron. Me and George were sick of those two not getting along, so we locked them in his dormitory until they worked through all of their issues." She looked quite proud of herself.

"Yes, anyway, but they _fell asleep,_ and left us in there until almost five this morning. When they finally let us out, Fred and I decided going to sleep would just be useless—"

"So I take it you two are on speaking terms again?" Harry cut in.

George beamed. "They are indeed, and it's all thanks to us." He, too, was looking proud of himself.

Fred groaned and pulled his head up. "And I suggested we could go watch the sunrise from the Astronomy Tower—a fantastic idea, in my opinion."

"And it _was_ a fantastic idea," said Hermione. "Until Malfoy showed up."

"Don't know _what_ the little ferret was doing up at that hour, and how he knew to look there," Fred added. "But since he's a prefect, he can give us detention if he pleases."

"We thought we'd go to Snape, you know, have to scrub frog intestines out of cauldrons or something," Hermione continued. "Turns out, he decided it was more Umbridge's business."

"I guess we'd better get up there. Don't want to keep the Hogwarts High Inquisitor waiting, do we?" He said her title with more venom than he knew he could muster.

Hermione nodded, and they left together.

"So," Ron began very casually, "What did they do while they were locked in there?"

"Like Hermione said, we fell asleep." George showed no shame over this; in fact, he was happy to admit it. He was almost certain that he and Ginny dozing off had led to Fred and Hermione being forced to discuss a lot more than they would have.

"Meaning they could've done _anything?_"

"Stop being so overprotective," Ginny snapped. "You don't own her! Besides, they didn't _do_ anything. They played some silly game—twenty questions, I think it was called."

Harry snorted. "I bet that was interesting."

"I wouldn't know," she said dryly. "I fell asleep when they were talking about boggarts and woke up when Fred was saying he would've kissed her when—" She broke off when Ron made a strange noise. "Oh, _grow up,_ Ron! She's sixteen, I think she's mature enough to make decisions for herself!"

He shuddered. "It's just—weird. I always expected her to stay single until we graduate, then I could set her up with someone I approve of."

George pegged him with a roll. "Are you saying you don't approve of your own brother?"

* * *

_I will not cavort._

Hands bleeding, Hermione and Fred left Umbridge's office shortly after ten that night. "Well, I think we learned a lot today," Hermione said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "For one, I don't think Umbridge really has any grasp of the actually definition of the word _cavort."_

"For another, she'll keep you thirty minutes longer if you try talking."

Hermione glared in mock anger. "That's all on you, Fred. I take no part of the blame for that. And yet I still had to suffer alongside you."

He slung his arm around her shoulders as they walked. "What a trooper. And just think, how many people get battle scars like these as a result of their first date?"

"Detention with Umbridge was our first date?" she asked, raising her eyebrows so high they almost disappeared into her hair.

"No, the Astronomy Tower was." Then he stopped walking and looked at her with mild horror. "You _did_ consider that a date, didn't you?"

She shrugged and pulled on his arm. "C'mon, we don't want to get another detention for being out after curfew."

"Not until we establish whether or not that was a date."

"Can't we do that in the Common Room?" she begged.

"Nope," he said, popping the p. "It's a pretty easy question."

"Well, I mean, if you say it was a date, then—"

It was too late, though; Professor Umbridge gave one of her sickening little laugh-coughs. "Well, well, _well,_" she said. "I don't believe you two have learned your lesson after all. Detention, tomorrow night, eight o'clock _sharp._"

* * *

"Fuck," Fred hissed as he soaked his hand in the bowl of Murtlap Essence. "I hate that bitch."

"Me too," Hermione agreed. They had just returned from their second detention. Thankfully, they hadn't been issued another this time.

"You never did say why you had to go back," said Ginny, eyeing them both curiously. "It usually only takes once to get the message across. And what does—" She stared hard at the back of Hermione's hand. "—cavort mean?"

"Cavort means either A) to jump or dance around excitedly or B) to be up to sexual or otherwise disreputable pursuits," Hermione replied, sounding, as she often did, like she was speaking from a book, in this case the dictionary. "She clearly doesn't know what it really means."

"Okay, that answers the second question, but what did you do to get a second detention?"

"It was stupid," Fred mumbled.

"Tell me, tell me, tell me!" When she wanted to, Ginny could get any information she wanted from her brothers just by playing the annoying little sister card.

"I said something about how most people don't get battle scars from their first date—"

"And I thought he was referring to detention as our first date—"

"But I actually meant that the sunrise-watching was our first date—"

"And then he quit walking until I would tell him whether or not it was a date."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You two are bloody ridiculous. You know that, right?" Then, because she just _had_ to know: "So what did you say in the end? Was it a date or not?"

"Funnily enough," said Fred, "We never finished that discussion. _I_ thought it was a date."

"Oh, fine, if it was _that_ important to you, we'll call it a date."

"Well, why wouldn't it have been?"

"Oh, I don't know... I just kind of thought that if it had been a date, you would've kissed me at some point."

Ginny did her best to disguise her laugh as a cough, though she wasn't very successful.

"Well why didn't you say so?" He tried to kiss her, but she pushed him away.

"It's weird," she quipped. "But I'm just not in the mood to kiss someone when their hand is covered in essence of Murtlap, which, by the way, they also got on their face somehow." She yawned and stood up. "I'll see you in the morning." She swooped down and, despite her words, kissed his cheek, and then she was gone.

* * *

Hermione found out about Arthur Weasley's attack early the morning after it happened. Professor Dumbledore personally sought her out to give her the news, and assured her that he was alive, but that was about the only information he could give her at the moment. Hermione wrote her parents at once and told them she wouldn't be going skiing with them, after all. She claimed she was staying at Hogwarts over the holiday so she had better access to the library, not wanting to freak them out about why she wasn't coming home and where she was really going.

She, however, was definitely freaking out. Dumbledore hadn't told her much about it, and she wouldn't know any more until she saw Harry. She _hated_ not knowing every last detail.

* * *

Even though he had just seen his father, Fred was still worried sick. Now, he wasn't worried about whether his dad would live or die, but about what his parents were doing with the Order.

What could possibly be so important, such a valuable weapon, that it was worth risking their lives to watch over? And what was so useful that Voldemort and his army felt the need to attack for it?

His mother seemed to be of the opinion that seeing what could happen to its members would discourage Fred from joining the Order when he graduated from Hogwarts, but she couldn't have been more wrong. If anything, this just fueled the fire. He wanted more than ever to be able to help stop those evil wizards from doing anything like this ever again. He wanted to _fight._ And he would, he just knew it.

There was a knock at his door, but before he could even ask who it was, Hermione was entering the room.

"Sure, of course you can come in," Fred said.

She sat next to him on his bed. "I figured I'd be welcome." Then, very quietly, she asked, "How are you doing?"

"I've been better," he muttered.

Hermione pulled him into a hug. "He's going to be okay."

"I know. I just wish it hadn't happened in the first place." Still in Hermione's arms, he shifted so he could rest his head on her shoulder.

"We all do. And we know so many people in the Order that we were bound to have a connection to someone that got hurt eventually."

"You're lucky your parents are Muggles," he said bitterly, but immediately thought it was insensitive. "I mean—"

"No, I'm lucky in that sense. They're not a specific target yet. But your parents, they're just so _sweet._ I never thought one of them would be targeted like this."

Fred shrugged; he was too exhausted to keep the conversation going. But he didn't know for sure that his dad had been targeted. Maybe it was just bad luck, being there the night they chose to attack. Breathing in the scent of Hermione's shampoo—strawberry?—he tried to force all thoughts of Death Eaters and snakes and the hospital from his mind as he slipped into a semi-peaceful sleep.

* * *

**Holy** hell, how are we already at chapter ten? Thanks to **93 Diagon Alley** and **krikanalo** for reviewing!


	11. Knight of Wands

Nobody really saw the Weasley twins' departure coming.

When she looked back on it later, Hermione could see the signs, little hints that maybe those two wouldn't stick it out for the remainder of the term. But at the time, she thought everything was normal—that is, as normal as it could get at Hogwarts.

For instance, one day shortly after the forced disbanding of the D.A., Fred was walking Hermione to Defense Against the Dark Arts, and he spotted a short blonde boy. Just who he needed to see. "Oi! Creevey!" he shouted down the hall.

Colin just about jumped out of his skin, by the looks of it. "Er—yes?" he said nervously.

"C'mere for a second!"

Hermione was suspicious, but didn't voice it. She wanted to see what Fred was up to. When Colin made it over to them, Fred glanced at his bag. "Do you have your camera with you?"

That was the _last_ thing she'd been expecting him to say, and Colin looked just as surprised as she felt. "Um, yeah. I do. W-why?"

"Can you take our picture?"

_"What?"_ Hermione and Colin asked at the same time.

Fred looked at her like it was obvious. "I want a picture of us. In case, for some reason, I don't see you for a while. It'd be nice to have a picture of us together to look at."

She had no idea what he was talking about, but she obliged. "Why not?"

"Excellent!" he exclaimed jovially. As he draped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her against him, his face lit up with a huge grin. Hermione had to smile just looking at him, and the result was a photo of two people who couldn't have looked happier.

"You're adorable," he said, examining the picture. "But you'd better get to class or Umbridge'll make you carve your wrongdoings into your skin again." With a swift kiss to her temple, he went off merrily down the corridor. Hermione, not quite as joyfully, took her seat in Umbridge's classroom.

She hadn't gotten that good of a look at the photograph, but from the glance she took, she was able to see that they had looked so much like a couple in it.

_Were_ they a couple? They hadn't officially discussed it yet, but that was the idea the general public seemed to have about them. But she didn't know for sure. They were together all the time: between classes, at mealtimes, in the Common Room, sometimes even in the library. She didn't know, though, whether he was her boyfriend or just a really good friend, and how would she know? She'd never been in a situation where she'd had to figure it out.

There was also the tiny issue that they hadn't kissed yet. Not a real kiss, anyway—not on the lips. There hadn't been many opportunities for it. She was busy with prefect duties and hardcore studying for O.W.L.s and he was busy with business with George and hardcore avoidance of studying for N.E.W.T.s. Part of her was thankful for it; she wasn't much for perfect fairytale scenarios, but if they were _going_ to become a couple, she wanted their first kiss to be after a date of some sort, not just a random happening between classes. (Was she expecting too much, considering who it was?)

Another part of her was concerned—did he not _want_ to kiss her? She pushed aside that thought quickly; after all, he had said that if he could change anything, it would be be to kiss her over the summer before last, and he'd tried to that night after their second detention. Oh, _why_ had she felt the need to turn him down on that offer?

Hermione decided then and there that before the year was over, she _would_ kiss Fred Weasley. Now it was just a matter of when...

* * *

Ginny hated going up to the boys' dormitories for any reason, and she always reserved these instances for when she absolutely had to.

With a feeling of immense dread, she knocked on the door to the seventh year boys' room. "Come in!" George called.

Ginny was surprised to find Hermione sitting at the foot of Fred's bed. She was even more surprised to find Fred with a book in his hands, apparently quizzing Hermione over History of Magic. She noticed the picture Fred had on his bedside table of him and Hermione—it was clearly recently taken, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Why didn't those two just suck it up and _admit to the world_ that they were together?

"What brings you here?" George asked.

"Actually, I need to talk to you and Fred."

Fred looked up from the textbook with slight interest. "About what?"

"I, uh, I need a favor. But, er, considering you're a prefect, Hermione, I have to ask you to leave, if that's okay," she said apologetically.

"Of course," she said briskly. "I should review Ancient Runes, anyway, and it put him to sleep last time he tried to help me." She threw Fred a smile before leaving.

After they heard her footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs, Ginny repeated, "I need a favor. Well," she corrected herself. "It's actually Harry who needs the favor; I'm just the messenger because he doesn't know how to ask."

"And what would that favor be?" Fred asked, now giving her his full attention. Harry needed a favor involving their area of expertise; this _had_ to be worthwhile.

"Well, he wants to talk to Sirius..."

* * *

Fred looked around the dormitory wistfully. "I can't believe this is our last night here," he said quietly.

"You're not getting cold feet, are you?" George asked sharply. That was the last thing they needed.

"Of course not! It's just weird. I knew this day would come... But now that it's here, I don't know how to feel about it."

"Is it about leaving behind the bed you've slept in for the better part of seven years, or is it about leaving behind Granger?"

"It has nothing to do with her," he protested.

George wasn't convinced. "You'll see her over the summer—that's not that long away. Come on, this might be our only chance. And Harry really needs us on this one. And you've got that picture that you—in what I'm sure was a completely masculine way—insisted the two of you take _just in case._ I swear, you're the girl in the relationship."

"It's not a relationship," Fred argued.

George snorted disbelievingly. "How is it _not_ a relationship?"

Fred mumbled something that sounded like _"Haven't even kissed yet..."_

"You _what?_" George yelped.

"You heard me."

"I did, but I—wow. I guess I just expected. _Why?_" He couldn't fathom the idea; it had been _months_ now since they'd made up. Surely there'd been a chance for him to kiss her in all of that time.

"I don't know. I've been waiting for the perfect moment, I s'pose."

"You are such a girl!" Then he frowned. "Unless you want to wait until summer, you might want to kiss her tomorrow, Fred. Find that perfect moment."

Fred knew that George was right. If he didn't seize the opportunity tomorrow, he might not get another chance for a long time. He would regret it for months if he didn't kiss her tomorrow. But _when?_ Their plan would operate on such a tight schedule that it would be hard to find time for anything else.

He'd manage it, though. He would have to.

* * *

Hermione knew Fred and George were planning something, something extreme. She'd found out that Harry desperately needed to talk to Sirius for some reason, and although she didn't approve of whatever it was they were plotting, she chose not to stand in the way. This was important to Harry, and the twins seemed excited about it. It must have been _huge._ Bigger even than the fireworks they'd set off on Umbridge's first day as headmistress. Whatever it was, she would just let it happen, no matter how much she wanted to intervene.

She was on her way to the library when someone called to her from inside an empty classroom. She peeked in to find Fred, looking anxious. She entered the room. Before she could even open her mouth, he started talking. "Okay, I don't have much time, so you're going to stay quiet and let me say what I need to say, no matter how awkward I am at saying it. Got it?" When she nodded, he continued. "I like you—a—a lot. Ever since last summer, after my fight with Percy. I finally started to notice you then. I should have noticed you way before that, but that's irrelevant. And then after the World Cup, when the Death Eaters were roaming around, all I could think of was that you're a Muggle-born and they would be more likely to target you than any of us, except maybe Harry, and I was just so relieved when you got back and you were _safe_."

He took a deep breath and trudged on with his speech, most of which he was improvising, having failed at scripting a decent profession of affection. "And then, you know, I messed up a little and spent too long figuring out _how_ to ask you to the Yule Ball that by the time I actually got around to asking you, Krum had beat me to it. That was quite the setback. You certainly haven't made this _easy_ on me, by any means." He glanced at the clock. "Okay, I don't need to repeat every up and down our friendship has suffered—I would, but I honestly don't have enough time. So over the past couple of years, I've noticed you more and more. You care about house-elves, which is really sweet of you, considering I don't think anyone else gives a damn about them. You excel at everything you do. You're _gorgeous._ You have the best laugh I've ever heard, and I've made a _lot_ of people laugh. You're absolutely fantastic. And even though George and Ginny have been dropping hints all year, I've only recently recognized that you might feel the same about me."

Hermione wanted to speak, but she remained quiet, just smiling as he kept talking.

"And, well, damn it, Hermione, I don't know when the next chance I'll get to do this will be, so I'm doing it now." He grabbed her by the waist and kissed her hard on the mouth.

If she was surprised, she did a good job at hiding it, and was kissing him back within a couple of seconds. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. It was finally happening. She was kissing Fred, and it was _wonderful_. His lips were a little chapped, but he moved them fervently against hers, and she never wanted it to end.

All too soon, though, he was pulling away, looking breathless. "Yes, we'll definitely be doing that again."

He tried to leave, but she caught him by the wrist. "One more for the road?" she asked, because she had the sudden feeling that he was leaving today. She didn't give him a chance to answer before she leaned up and pressed her lips to his quickly. "Guess you'd better get going."

It was less than an hour later that almost every student at Hogwarts had gathered in the entrance hall, witnessing what would surely go down as one of the greatest moments in school history.

Fred and George sure knew how to make an exit. Hermione was pleased when Fred turned around for a fraction of a second to wink at her, and then they were flying away into the night.

* * *

When Hermione got back to her dormitory that night, she found a note and a photo on her bed. How had he gotten it—Ginny. Right. The note was short and simple, messily scrawled:

_Here's your own copy of my favorite picture. See you really soon!_ _~Fred_

She smiled to herself and was still looking at the photograph when Lavender and Parvati came bursting into the room. "Wasn't that _brilliant_?" Parvati shrieked.

"Umbridge's _face!_" Lavender squealed in agreement. Whenever someone did something interesting, those two obsessed over them for weeks. Hermione already knew they wouldn't shut up about Fred and George until exams were over, at the very least.

Parvati frowned at Hermione. "I suppose _you_ disapprove?"

"Of course not. I hate Umbridge as much as anybody."

"Even though they broke so many school rules?"

"_Yes," _she said emphatically. "I completely support what they did back there."

Lavender spotted the picture and looked over Hermione's shoulder. "Ooh, which one is that?"

"Fred." She'd grown so used to the twins that it felt weird to know someone who wasn't able to tell them apart.

The gears in Lavender's head were working—slowly, but they were still turning, and something clicked. "Are you two, like, together or something?"

"Yeah," Hermione said. "We are."

* * *

**Thanks** to **93 Diagon Alley**, **nsheldonb**, and **GabzHaug** for reviewing!


	12. The Tower

The twins hadn't been operating their shop for very long, but it was already a clear success. Harry had been right a year earlier when he'd said he thought people would be needing a few laughs. It was evident on the faces of each person who entered the shop that they were in dire need of a good laugh, and by the time they left—usually with a bag of various products—that much had been achieved.

One of the most satisfying parts was seeing how creative the students remaining at Hogwarts were. George had purposefully left a large stack of order forms on a table on the Gryffindor Common Room, though he and Fred knew that anybody Umbridge and Filch suspected of trying to place an order would have their mail searched. But the volume of orders was shocking; it seemed that every sixth and seventh year in Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor had found a way to cleverly disguise their orders as letters home, or letters to the editors of the Daily Prophet. A few younger students had also managed some fairly impressive concealment charms.

Lee, of course, received whatever products he wanted for free, but he was writing to them regularly to tell of the progress others were making. Peeves, he mentioned, had taken Fred very seriously and was giving Umbridge absolute hell, and none of the other professors were doing anything to stop it. Lee suspected that they got a kick out of watching Umbridge suffer. He also said that every day, students were having to be rushed out of Defense Against the Dark Arts with various ailments—the Skiving Snackboxes were a hit. They had responded with enough Fever Fudge for everyone in Gryffindor.

Pleased with the day's work—well, a day and a half's work, really; the last customer, a recent widow, hadn't left until well after two in the morning and they hadn't had the heart to kick her out—Fred flicked off the lights in the shop and headed upstairs to their flat. He was just about to fix himself a very late dinner when there was a small but bright flash of light, from which a silvery-white figure emerged.

"A weasel," he muttered before it dawned on him. "Dad's Patronus. George!" he shouted, already getting the feeling that something was wrong. Their dad would have found another way of communicating if it was something mundane.

George noticed the panicked note in his brother's voice and joined him in the kitchen in an instant. The voice of their father came from the weasel, bearing a short but terrifying message: _"Come home straight away. Something has happened."_

Fred's thoughts and heart began to race. What could have happened that he had to be so vague about? Had their mother been injured? Was it something to do with the Order? Was something wrong at the school? Was somebody dead?

"What the fuck are you just _standing there_ for?" George yelled, eyes wide with fear. "Let's go!"

They Disapparated and appeared in the kitchen at the Burrow. Both of their parents were standing there, looking quite alive, healthy, and unharmed. But their mother seemed to be on the verge of tears and was shaking, while their father looked older than he had in years, like the weight of what he had to say had aged him at least a decade. They looked like they'd just barely survived a losing battle.

"What's wrong?" Fred asked sharply.

"Something... something has happened," his mum said softly.

"Dad said as much," said George impatiently, growing more afraid by the second. "_What_ happened? You made it sound urgent."

And so their father told them all he knew: Harry had had a vision and, after attempting to contact Sirius to no success, and after escaping Umbridge, had set off for the Ministry with Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna. There was a battle of sorts in the Department of Mysteries.

"Your sister," Molly cut in, "is just fine. Only got a broken ankle." Through her obvious sadness, there was a trace of pride in her voice. Her fourteen year old daughter had fought Voldemort's army and left with nothing more than an injured ankle, something that could be mended at once.

"What about Ron?" George asked. She was so quick to mention Ginny... Did that mean Ron hadn't fared as well?

Arthur ignored him and continued, explaining how several members of the Order had joined them. For the first time, his voice quivered. "S-Sirius is dead."

"And the others?"

"They all sustained varying degrees of injuries." He was avoiding telling them something. That was very clear now.

"Harry?" asked George.

"Minor bruises and cuts, all healed up. Same with Luna, and Madam Pomfrey fixed Neville's broken nose in a flash."

There were only two left whose status she hadn't told them. "Ron and Hermione?"

Their mother answered this time, her voice a higher pitch than usual. "Ron was attacked by—by—well, I'm not really sure how to explain it. He was attacked by thoughts. Very nearly killed him. He should be awake by morning, but it took them some time to regulate his breathing. And he's sure to have a few scars."

In spite of himself, George snorted. At a reproachful look from the other three, he apologized. "Sorry, it's just... It's so typical, isn't it? Ron was nearly killed by _thoughts?_"

Fred gave a half-chuckle, though their mother still looked disapproving. "How can you laugh at a time like this?"

"That's what they do, Molly. That's what they're best at: making light of situations. _Laughing. _It's a good quality to have at times like this." Their dad gave them a grim sort of smile.

"And Hermione?" inquired Fred nervously.

His parents shared a look. _This._ This was what they'd been trying not to tell them.

"Hermione? Is she okay?" he demanded.

"One of the Death Eaters, Dolohov, I think... He hit her with a curse. She—she's not _dead._ But, but that's the best we can say right now." Their mother finally started crying after choking the words out.

"I have to go see her!" Fred said, louder than he'd intended. "Them," he corrected, clenching his fists. The faint scar that read _I will not cavort_ became more prominent. "All of them. Hermione, Ginny, Ron, the others. When can I leave?"

"You can't," his father replied sorrowfully. "Dumbledore told us he's not allowing any visitors to the castle. Not even us."

Molly saw something in her son's eyes then and pulled him away from her husband and other son, into another room so that she could talk to him privately. "Fred, are you and Hermione—" She didn't know how to phrase it best; Fred had never been one to discuss his feelings, except anger, and she didn't want him closing up. "Are you, I mean, forgive me if I'm wrong—"

"We are," he interrupted. Then, because he was curious, he asked, "How did you know?"

"Mother's intuition. Oh, Fred," she whispered, pulling him into her arms. "I'm so sorry."

He almost broke down, but fought back tears. Hermione was alive, and she was going to be okay. She had to. She was Hermione; she'd helped Harry save the Sorcerer's Stone, she'd rescued Sirius, she'd taken more classes than anyone at Hogwarts, she'd figured out how to beat a dragon, she'd come up with the idea for the D.A. She was Hermione Granger. She was invincible.

* * *

Hermione had no idea what spell Dolohov hit her with, but it had caused significant damage. When she woke up the morning after the battle, she was in so much pain that she wanted to cry; thankfully, it was just a moment before Madam Pomfrey noticed, and she forced several potions down her throat. She hadn't been permitted to leave until just a couple days before the term ended, and by then, every person in the school had heard about what happened, though the details, as always, were skewed. Many of them, she'd noticed, regarded her as something of a hero.

Going home always felt strange to Hermione, but this year was the weirdest yet. It almost seemed absurd to be going home to her normal Muggle parents when, just days earlier, she had been fighting for her life and the lives of others against wizards more than twice her age. Of course, she would be returning to the Burrow after a week or so at home, but any semblance of normalcy seemed odd.

She sighed as she looked out the window, watching the scenery fly by. Things were really going to get bad now. With his return made public—a full year after the fact, she thought bitterly—Voldemort and his supporters would surely be less discreet. It was only a matter of time before their world was in turmoil.

And for the first time since she'd set foot in that school, her parents knew the full story. Not the little bits and piece she chose to divulge, but the entire tale—everything from the at-the-time illegal defense group from the battle to the curse. Dumbledore had written them as soon as everyone returned from the Ministry. They had responded by that afternoon, and were surprisingly pleased with their daughter. Hermione had been expecting a written lecture for breaking so many rules, but they were glad they were safe and very proud that she had fought like that. Maybe she would give all of the details more often, because they wrote in a happier tone than they had in five years. Oh, who was she kidding? She would always only give them half the story. They would worry too much if they knew half the things she got away with at school.

Lost in thought, it was only when Ginny shook her shoulder that Hermione realized they were at King's Cross.

Ron and Harry offered to carry her things for her. Normally, she would have objected, but she was still quite sore and appreciated it. She stepped off the train very carefully, and was looking for familiar faces when something collided with her.

Not something. Someone.

Not just someone.

"Fred!" she squeaked.

Fred laughed delightedly and twirled her around in a circle. "I'm so glad you're okay!"

"Watch the ribs," she muttered after he released her, but she was grinning. He looked positively giddy, and, as it usually was, his good mood was contagious.

"Mum scared the _fuck_ out of me, you know. Dad sent a Patronus to tell us what happened, then she was all vague about your condition, and then—" For a brief second, he looked mutinous. "—they told me I couldn't visit you. Dumbledore contacted Dad right after you woke up, of course, so I knew you were alright. Did you get my present?" he added.

"I did. I thought Madam Pomfrey might smother me in my sleep for setting off fireworks in the Hospital Wing like that, but she couldn't, not with the whole school doing it."

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't you know?" He shook his head, so she took it upon herself to tell him, "Well, I guess students have been placing massive orders for fireworks from you two, probably with the intention of causing more chaos and further ruining Umbridge's peace of mind. Starting a couple days after we got back, everyone started lighting them in celebration. It was just a few at first, but by about the third day, Ginny said it was _madness._ Poor Neville tripped down the stairs because he couldn't see through all the sparks. By the time I got out, there weren't quite so many, but there were still a few hundred throughout the castle." She beamed at him. "And the Weasley twin legacy lives on."

"Oh, good, I was so worried about being forgotten," Fred said sarcastically. "Top of my list of concerns, actually. But you've certainly eased my mind now."

"Shut up," she whined halfheartedly. "Point is, you're even bigger legends than you were when you left, and I didn't think that was possible." Then, without any warning, she leaned up and crashed her lips against his.

He was more surprised than she had been the first time he'd kissed her, and thus took longer to react; he did, though, and kissed her back eagerly, and would have kept kissing her all day if George hadn't cleared his throat loudly, making them spring apart.

"No, don't stop on my behalf. I just wondered if you two had any plans of leaving anytime soon." He was grinning at them in an amused sort of way.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" Hermione grabbed Fred's hand and started pulling him along with her.

"Where are we going?"

"You have to meet my parents!" she exclaimed. "I mean, I think you met them for a few seconds a couple years ago, but you have to _really_ meet them." She laughed. "Out of everything that's happened this year, I think they'll be most shocked to hear I have a boyfriend now."

* * *

**The** last chapter got the most reviews yet. (It's because they kissed, isn't it?) So, huge thanks to **nsheldonb, 93 Diagon Alley, snangerlover04, penmage007, krikanalo, Marion Hood, **and **GabzHaug** for reviewing!


	13. Queen of Pentacles

"Has anyone seen Hermione?" Molly Weasley asked distractedly as she bustled around the kitchen making lunch.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny exchanged a look but kept their mouths shut tight. Hermione hadn't explicitly told them _not_ to tell Mrs. Weasley where she was, but she hadn't announced to her when she left, either.

Mrs. Weasley didn't notice their silent interaction. "I haven't seen her since this morning," she continued. "Oh, dear, you don't think she was upset about her O.W.L. results, do you?" she wondered, suddenly looking concerned. "I know she has high expectations set for herself—did she say anything about only getting an E on her Defense Against the Dark Arts exam?"

Ron snorted and opened his mouth, but Ginny kicked him and said, "She's probably just out in the orchard. She loves reading outside."

Harry nodded in agreement. "I'm sure that's where she is."

Mrs. Weasley appeared satisfied. "Well, I'll set a plate out for her anyway, just in case... Ginny, dear, would you help me set the table?"

While Ginny helped her mother, Ron muttered to Harry, "Do you really think she hasn't figured it out yet?"

Harry shrugged. "She's either _very_ trusting, or she does know but would rather pretend she doesn't."

* * *

It was Fred's day off, and he had already resigned himself to a boring day on the couch. He would have much preferred to be working, but George had insisted that they each take one day off a week so they never got sick of the joke shop. He had a point, in theory, but Fred just couldn't see himself ever growing tired of it. With the public knowledge of Voldemort's return, business had taken a sharp upturn. The gloomier the world got, the more products they sold. Fred _loved_ it; he felt like he was making a difference. He wasn't out there fighting or doing missions for the Order, but he was making people really smile and genuinely laugh, and that was enough of a win for him.

The small fireplace was suddenly lit with bright green flames, and he glanced at it with interest. The next second, Hermione was stumbling into the room, covered with soot and coughing but grinning nonetheless.

Fred leapt off the couch. "Hermione, you _fantastic _girl, how the hell did you manage to sneak out _again_ with my mum hovering over you lot constantly?"

It was true. Since the start of the holidays, Molly had hardly let them out of her sight. She was worried about her youngest two children and their friends and, when Hermione asked politely if she could please go visit Fred, she'd said that she could see him when they went to Diagon Alley to shop for school supplies and surely that would be enough for her.

This was the fourth time Hermione had found a way to see him anyway.

"Ginny staged a diversion. Phlegm—er, I mean _Fleur_—may have accidentally ingested a Puking Pastille as part of the distraction."

He gave her a quick kiss and then smirked. "Who knew Hermione Granger would be so willing to break rules?"

She shrugged. "I'm not. You just bring out the rebel in me." After dusting herself off, she plopped down onto his couch.

"What's this?" he asked, pulling a piece of parchment out of her pocket as he joined her, laying so his head was in her lap.

"N-nothing," she stammered, grabbing for it.

"Nuh-uh," he protested. "No secrets!" He stretched his arms out, held it above his face, and read. "Interesting, you carry your O.W.L. results with you?"

"I only got them today!" she said defensively, still trying to snatch it back from him.

"And you've taken to using it as a good luck talisman?" he teased. He scanned through the list before handing the results back to her. "Eleven," he mumbled weakly. "You—you got _eleven_ O.W.L.s. _Ten_ Outstandings?"

"Yes, well, the Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn't my best exam, of course. I could have done much better." She looked embarrassed.

"Eleven," he repeated, dumbstruck. "Eleven. That's nearly four times as many as I got."

"But it's only a bunch of letters," she said, growing redder by the minute. "It doesn't _mean_ anything."

"Hermione, I got _three._ And even that came as a shock to me; I was only expecting to get one in Charms." He tried to act like he was joking, but seeing someone get eight more O.W.L.s than he did was a quick reminder that he had not exactly excelled while in school.

"It's funny," she said dryly. "Everyone thinks you're so confident, but you can't even see the best thing about you."

"My good looks, joking nature, and charming personality?" he asked hopefully.

"Nope, although you've also got all of that going for you." She started playing with his hair—it was becoming a habit of hers—and explained, "You're obviously great at Charms, because even you will admit that." At his smirk, she swatted his arm. "The _class,_ Fred. Charms class. You got an Outstanding, didn't you? And if you'd stayed for N.E.W.T.s, I'm sure you would have done very well in the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam, because you're also very good at that, which you proved in the D.A. last year. You haven't poisoned anyone yet, so I'm guessing you're not too bad at potion-making. McGonagall herself told me she thought you were gifted in Transfiguration. You should have seen the way the professors all looked at that swamp you and George invented; Flitwick even left a patch of it because he was so impressed."

"So I'm good at a few things," he muttered. "Doesn't really matter."

"Do you hear yourself? Of _course_ it matters! These exams, they're not a measure of real intelligence. Don't you get my point, Fred? I think you're _brilliant." _She leaned over awkwardly and gave him a peck on the lips.

"Brilliant, you say?" He began to smile.

"Mmhmm. Absolutely, astonishingly, wonderfully brilliant."

"Well, I s'pose if _you_ think that, it's quite the compliment, isn't it?"

She smiled, but then almost immediately it turned to a frown. "You know, it's kind of hard to kiss you from this angle."

* * *

It was dinnertime and Hermione was still nowhere in sight. Molly was beginning to get frantic. "I checked outside," she said shrilly. "She wasn't _in_ the orchard. And you're _sure_ she wasn't upstairs? Do _any_ of you know where she is?"

Ron caved under his mother's piercing stare. "She's at Fred and George's!" he yelled, throwing his hands up. "She's not in danger, she hasn't been kidnapped or gone missing. She's perfectly safe."

He was happy to see that his mother's face relaxed. "Oh, I should've guessed. I'll have to have a little chat with her when she gets back, ask her not to sneak out like that." She rounded on her son. "Why didn't you just tell me that from the start?"

Ginny rushed to his aid. "You've been so intense about keeping us all under your thumb; we thought you'd go bursting into Diagon Alley if you knew she was seeing Fred."

Ron turned to Ginny, eager to get the attention off himself. "Well, why does she need to visit him, anyway? You haven't felt the need to see _your_ boyfriend four times this summer."

Ginny had her wand out and pointed at her brother with every intention to use it—to hell with the law prohibiting her from using magic out of school—before Mrs. Weasley had even asked, "What do you mean, _your_ boyfriend?"

* * *

"I'm dating a perfect witch. This calls for a celebration!" Fred declared, summoning a bottle of firewhiskey from the small kitchen.

"Really? Who?" Hermione asked, faking jealousy.

"You, silly." He kissed her nose. "Wow, you're not objecting to firewhiskey even though you're underage. You really _are_ feeling rebellious." After taking a swig from the bottle, he passed it to her. "Er, I can get glasses, if you want..."

After hesitating for a brief moment, she grinned and took a long sip. It burned her throat slightly but was not an entirely unpleasant drink. She laughed in the same way she had in the aftermath of the Quidditch World Cup, and for the same reason.

"What's so funny?" he asked, taking another drink.

"It's just—well, you wouldn't understand—but sometimes I have to laugh because it hits me that my parents really don't know where I am or what I'm doing; they only ever have a general idea."

"How do you mean?"

"Right now, for instance, they think I'm at your mum's house getting ready for my sixth year, when in reality, I'm sitting on my boyfriend's couch drinking firewhiskey."

"Gotta say, I like reality a lot better," said Fred.

She didn't reply, but took the bottle back from him. They went on like that for a while, passing the bottle of firewhiskey back and forth, occasionally talking, but mostly just glad to have each other for company. They didn't _need_ to talk at all times; they could sit in silence and just be happy they were together.

* * *

Mrs. Weasley sat up late waiting for Hermione to return, but when two o'clock rolled around and she still wasn't back, she was fairly certain that Hermione wasn't coming back that night. It wouldn't bother her so much if she'd just _told her_ where she was going and what time she planned on coming home. But she'd slipped away in secrecy, and that was a violation of Molly's trust. She liked to think of herself as a second mother to Hermione, who spent almost every holiday with them, so she decided that she would intervene in a way that any (magical) mother would.

* * *

A loud _CRACK!_ disturbed the silence and both Fred and Hermione woke up.

Fred reached over her, fumbling around on his nightstand for his wand. He sat up and pointed it at the door as footsteps approached his room. Hermione located her wand as well, just in case she needed it.

The door sprang open. "_Mum?"_ Fred yelped. That clearly wasn't who he expected to Apparate into his home in the middle of the night.

She turned on the lights with a flick of her wand while Fred and Hermione lowered theirs. "Oh, hello," she said sweetly. "So _nice_ to see you." She glanced around the room, her eyes finding an article of clothing on the messy floor. "Hermione, dear, I think this is your shirt, right?"

Cheeks pink, Hermione nodded mutely.

"You'll want to put that back on before we leave. Fred, I know I can't lecture you because you finished school and you're not living at home anymore, but _Hermione._ I expected more of you! I'll give you two _five minutes_, and then we're leaving, Hermione, and we're going to have a discussion when we get home." She turned on her heel and left the room.

Fred dissolved into a fit of laughter while Hermione got dressed quickly. "What the _hell_ are you laughing at?" she hissed.

"N-nothing," he mumbled quickly. "It's just nice to see her disappointed with someone else for a change." He smirked.

"Fuck you," she muttered.

"I think you already did that," he said before he could stop himself.

Hermione threw the nearest object—a rolled up pair of socks—at him. "Go to hell."

"Not a chance," he replied, eyes twinkling. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him. "C'mon, she may not let you see me until you go shopping for school. Surely you'll leave on a good note?"

She grumbled but kissed him lightly. Mrs. Weasley called loudly, "Your five minutes are up! Time to go!"

"One more kiss?" Fred pleaded.

Hermione obliged with a small smile, then grimaced when Molly shouted for her again. "Wish me luck."

* * *

**Thanks** to **nsheldonb** for reviewing!


	14. Ten of Cups

There were very few things that haunted Hermione's nightmares. In fact, for the most part, she had relatively good dreams. Any bad ones usually involved a poor grade, or _very _occasionally a Death Eater. Never anything too serious.

But now, she had something that truly terrified her that kept popping up in her dreams.

It was happening on a weekly basis, sometimes even more often than that. It was the face of a very disappointed and upset Molly Weasley, hands on her hips while Hermione sat at the kitchen table and apologized for sneaking out. She kept reliving the horrible, cringe-worthy awkward experience over and over when she went to sleep, with various one-liners from the long lecture she'd given.

_"Give me one good reason not to write your parents this instant and tell them what you've been up to this summer!"_

_"What if something had happened to you? Do you want me to have that on my conscience, that you were hurt or killed when you were supposed to be under my careful supervision?"_

_"Hermione, you are sixteen years old and much too young to be spending the night with a boy!"_

_"Oh, don't give me that, I know that Ron and Harry are boys. You know what I mean."_

_"I'm not mad, certainly not. But I hope you know that I am _very_ disappointed. You've always been such a good girl, Hermione."_

Hermione was sure these dreams were proof she was suffering from some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder. Mrs. Weasley could have that effect on someone when she wanted to.

* * *

On the first of October, Filch approached Hermione at lunch with an expression of obvious dislike on his face. He was clutching a clumsily-rewrapped parcel, which he halfway handed to her before withdrawing it again. "Maybe I didn't check it thoroughly enough," he growled to himself.

"What is it?" she asked interestedly. Who could have sent her something that Filch saw as worth investigating?

"Must be your birthday present from Fred," said Ginny sagely.

Filch turned his untrusting eyes to her. "Are you in on this?" he snarled.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Yes, actually. I helped him pick it out. You've had plenty of time to ensure that it isn't laced with dungbombs, and this lovely lady's birthday has long since passed, so would you _please_ hand over her present? Surely you have something more pressing to do than try to get my brothers in trouble. My brothers who, incidentally, aren't even students here anymore." She spoke sweetly, but her eyes were threatening.

He thrust it at Hermione before stalking off, muttering about trouble-makers and good-for-nothings. "Thanks," Hermione said. "My birthday was almost two weeks ago..."

Ginny nodded. "I know. He's been keeping mail from Fred and George for longer than necessary so he can be certain there isn't anything suspicious inside. You'd _think,_" she added, a note of anger in her voice, "that he would care more about making sure nothing _dangerous_ gets into the school!"

Hermione snorted. It was so typical of their caretaker: he was more worried about petty pranks than Dark Magic.

"Are you going to open it or not?" Ginny demanded, noticing that she was still just holding it.

"Oh, right. Yeah." She carefully opened it, for some reason slightly nervous that maybe Filch's suspicions were correct. They weren't, of course, because all that was inside was a letter and a small box. She picked up the letter first.

_Hermione,_

_I'm sending this to you a week early because I have a sneaking suspicion that dear old Filch will keep anything I send for longer than necessary, so I'm very sorry if you still don't get this on your birthday. Either way, happy birthday!_

_I didn't have time to tell you this when you came by the shop, but my mum pulled me aside and gave me a lecture about you spending the night over the summer, but she also apologized for overreacting. I hope she wasn't too hard on you about it, I forgot to ask._

_Since I didn't get a chance to see you on your birthday, I was wondering—_

Hermione didn't get to find out what he was wondering, because the other half of the parchment had apparently been torn off. "Any idea what's missing here?" Hermione asked Ginny.

"I'm guessing he wanted to meet up somewhere, probably a Hogsmeade weekend, and Filch didn't think that was a good idea, so he kept that for himself. But never mind that. We can figure it out later. Open the box!"

Inside the box, there was a necklace with a small heart charm. Tiny orange stones decorated the heart, making a firework. Grinning, Hermione clasped it around her neck.

Ginny was beaming triumphantly at her. "I _told_ him you'd love it! He was so nervous. _Is it too much? What if she doesn't like it? Does she even wear jewelry?_ He was a _nightmare_ when we went shopping. I dunno what he'd've done if he'd gone by himself."

"I didn't know anywhere sold necklaces with fireworks on them," Hermione mused.

"Oh, they don't. He got it custom made." Ginny didn't miss the look of panic that passed over her friend's face for a second. "What's wrong? You _do_ like it, don't you?"

"No, of course I love it. I just, well, he's set the bar really high for presents now."

The redhead burst out laughing. "_That's_ what you're worried about?" she chortled.

Hermione was a bit put-off by Ginny's reaction. "Well, yeah. Of course it is. He gets me this fantastic necklace for my birthday, and there's no way I can beat that, or even come close. I know his birthday isn't till April, but Christmas isn't so far off, and now that he's gone and given me this amazing present, there's going to be more pressure for me to get _him_ something as great, and—"

"Hermione," said Ginny seriously. "Please shut up. _Please_ shut up. That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard. He doesn't expect you to get him some huge or expensive present, and he's not trying to set a really high standard. He happens to have lots of extra Galleons rolling around because of the shop, and he wanted to get you something special. He'd probably be surprised if you got him something for Christmas. Hell, he was bloody shocked when he finally figured out that you fancied him."

She still wasn't entirely convinced, and it showed on her face.

"He's happy just to be with you. Dad said he was bordering on hysterical when you got hurt at the Department of Mysteries and that Mum actually had to slip a Calming Draught into his pumpkin juice. He spent two years trying to win you over, usually failing or having really bad timing, and when he kissed you and you kissed back—something he _wasn't_ expecting, believe it or not—George said he wouldn't shut up about it for a week. He kind of puts you on a pedestal, Hermione, so he still has a difficult time grasping that you two are together, so he decided he'd get you the necklace."

"Now you're just making me feel guilty," Hermione muttered. "But I get your point. I'll try not to stress too much about gifts."

* * *

The first Hogsmeade trip was a few weeks later, and it was unexpectedly cold.

Hermione, Ron, Harry, and Ginny walked to The Three Broomsticks together, though Ginny left them once they were inside to go sit with Dean. They had no sooner found a table than Fred was pulling up a chair.

"Fred!" Hermione squealed excitedly. "What are you doing here?"

"Didn't you get my letter?" he asked.

"Only half of it," she said, rolling her eyes. At Fred's look of confusion, she explained, "Ginny reckons Filch ripped off half of it because he didn't want you coming near the school."

Harry and Ron said something about going and getting drinks before hurrying away. "George thought the same when you didn't write back." He blushed and mumbled, "I was worried you didn't like your present."

"Are you kidding? I love it!" She smiled brightly. "Best gift _ever._"

He noticed she was wearing the necklace and returned the smile. "So how long did good ole Argie keep it for?"

It took Hermione a minute to figure out that good ole Argie was Filch. "I got it at the beginning of October, so I guess around three weeks."

Fred sighed. "I s'pose next time I write to you, I'll have to use a different name, or else have Mum send it to you. Which reminds me—she _wasn't_ too hard on you, right?"

She shrugged. "She gave me a very stern talking to about sneaking off without telling her where I was going; that was about it. And then she forbid me from hexing Ron for telling her where I was." She cleared her throat and did her very best Molly Weasley impression: "_Hermione Granger, you are underage, and you are not to perform jinxes on my son in my house!" _She would never tell Fred the truth, that she still shuddered when she thought of it, how his mother still appeared in her nightmares, sounding painfully like a Howler.

"Should've known it was him. Harry keeps his nose in his own business, and Ginny knows better than—" He broke of, catching sight of Ginny and Dean snogging across the room. "I have half a mind to go tell her off."

"Oh, don't do that. That'd be hypocritical, don't you think?"

"I'm not openly kissing you; she's got her tongue down his throat over there. I'm not a hypocrite."

Hermione grinned slyly before leaning over so her lips were just an inch from his. "Now you are." With that, she closed the remaining distance and kissed him.

He smiled under the kiss and knew there was no way he would lecture Ginny. After all, maybe there wasn't anything terribly wrong with a little bit of PDA...

"Oi!" Ron yelled, slapping Fred's back.

Hermione pulled away, still grinning. Fred frowned at Ron. "What was that for?"

"I already have to deal with Ginny kissing every bloke she comes across—"

"Hey!" Harry and Hermione interrupted indignantly.

Ron ignored them. "—I don't want to see you two snogging all over the place."

Fred gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Ron, I haven't seen my girlfriend in almost two months. I know the concept of relationships is still entirely foreign to you, but I'd kind of like to kiss her, since I probably won't see her again till Christmas." He laced his fingers with Hermione's.

"Well...just keep it to a minimum," he said defeatedly.

"You know, Harry," Fred said conversationally. "I always thought you and Ginny would end up together."

"I know, right?" Hermione agreed vehemently while Harry stammered incoherently.

"George thinks so too."

"And I suppose George is a relationship expert," Ron said snippily.

"Yes, actually," Fred replied in a mild tone. "Perpetually single though he is, he's quite good at reading into things. He was right about me and Hermione, after all. He's been saying we'd end up together since she first came to Hogwarts. And let's be honest—who else saw that coming?"

"I, for one, sure didn't," said Hermione.

"Gotta say, I didn't either," Harry interjected, able to form words again.

"Ginny did. She and George did a lot of conspiring, trying to set us up."

"Like locking us in your dormitory when we quit speaking?" Hermione suggested.

"That was a success, wasn't it?"

"If it was so successful, why did it take you a few more months to kiss me?" she teased.

Fred didn't have an answer, so he pressed his lips to her cheek. "What do you say we ditch these two sad, lonely kids and go for a walk?"

"I suppose they can manage without me for a few hours. Behave yourselves!" she called to Ron and Harry as she left Three Broomsticks with Fred.

"I give Ron five minutes before he closes in on Ginny," sad Fred.

"You're giving him too much credit. I bet he's already headed over to her."

Sure enough, when they glanced in the window, Ron was making a beeline for Ginny and Dean. "He needs to get laid," Fred muttered. "Or someone's going to—"

"Kill him?"

"I was going to say slap him," Fred corrected.

"Ron gets slapped on a weekly basis. Usually by me or Ginny."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they walked. "I _knew_ there was a reason I liked you!"

She elbowed his side. "Is that the _only_ reason?"

"Well, no," he said hastily. "But come on, if you meet a girl who keeps your little brother's ego in check and smacks him on a regular basis, you know she's a keeper."

"That's either sweet or very weird, and I'm going to go with sweet."

"As you should." He pulled her along with him towards the Shrieking Shack, occasionally stopping to kiss her. He couldn't wait until the holidays when he could see her every day, or, at the very least, more often than this.

On the walk back to the castle—well, to the gate, since he wasn't up to dealing with Filch—Fred noticed Hermione was shivering, so he shrugged off his jacket and slipped it over her shoulders. She was cold enough that she didn't try to protest. While she was sliding her arms through the sleeves, she heard a soft _click_ and whipped her head around to find Colin Creevey with his camera. She immediately turned to Fred, raising an eyebrow in suspicion; she figured he'd planned it.

"Don't look at me, I'm just as confused as you are," he said.

Colin approached them, looking skittish. "Er, I was just walking by and saw you guys and—" He started speaking very quickly, "You two are just such a cute couple and I thought it would make a good picture and, uh..." He quit talking, clearly flustered, and handed Fred the photo before sprinting in the other direction.

Hermione looked at Fred and asked, "What is it about you that inspires so much fear in that boy?"

* * *

Huuuge thanks to **nsheldonb****, AgentBrenna, krikanalo, Lunarox67, **and **GabzHaug** for reviewing!


	15. The Star

He meant to say it over the Christmas holiday.

Fred had known for a long time just how strong his feelings for Hermione were, and he was ready to tell her those three words that can make or break a relationship. Christmas seemed like a fitting time to do it—_everyone_ was in a good mood around Christmas, and it was the perfect time: festive, joyful, all-around happy.

But every time he tried to get the words out, he was thwarted in some way. Christmas was, for all of its good qualities, a very hectic time of year, and there was too much chaos for him to find the right opportunity.

They were decorating and she was humming a Christmas carol to herself and she looked so adorable in one of his old sweaters with her hair in a bun and a candy cane sticking out of it. He opened his mouth and was just about to say it, but her damn cat knocked the tree over and got stuck in it, which caused enough of a distraction that the chance slipped away.

They were under the mistletoe _again_ and Hermione grinned and kissed him and he was going to say it, but someone—George. It was George. It was _always_ George—had bewitched the mistletoe to start spilling water on the couple under them—usually Fred and Hermione—if the kiss was not deemed 'good enough' and she'd had to kiss him again and by the time it quit spraying water, a guffawing George had appeared in the hall and Fred couldn't say it.

It was Christmas morning and they were the last two left eating breakfast and he had orange juice dripping on his chin and she wiped it off for him and he had almost formed the words when Ginny burst in, laughing madly and holding a necklace. "Look what Ron got from Lavender!" she shrieked, looking more amused than she ever had.

They were upstairs in his old room and he'd just opened his Christmas present from her (a series of books that would actually prove quite helpful for product design) and she was suddenly shy and asking if he liked it and he'd gotten out the, _"I l-"_ when there was a retching noise in the hall and his mother was yelling and he could hear Ginny laughing and he knew that she'd slipped Fleur a Puking Pastille for the third time. So with a sigh, he'd changed what he was _going_ to say and just told her, "I love _it!"_

The worst was when fucking Percy stopped by with the Minister of Magic and after that he hardly had an opportunity because Hermione was busy consoling Molly and Percy's arrival and departure had just upset the entire dynamic.

By the time he got a few seconds alone with Hermione without some sort of crisis going on in the house, it was time for her to go back to Hogwarts, and most of his family was there and it would have been entirely too embarrassing to say it then. What if she didn't say it back? What if, because he put her on the spot in front of everyone, she felt obligated to say it back but didn't really mean her? Too many things could go wrong, so he kept his mouth shut.

Next time he saw her, he'd say it.

* * *

Tragically, the next time they saw each other was not under the best circumstances for, well, _anything._

He and George were in Hogsmeade when they received word that Ron had been poisoned and they sprinted the whole way to the castle. Why, _why_ was it always their family? It was their sister who was possessed by Voldemort. It was their father who was nearly killed by a snake. And now, it was their little brother who almost died. How many Weasleys would get so close to death before one wasn't quite so lucky to narrowly escape it?

Ginny, Hermione, and Harry were all at Ron's bedside, trying to come up with theories. They all seemed to agree that it was an accident, and that Ron was certainly not the intended victim. What they disagreed on was who the poison was meant for: Slughorn or Dumbledore?

"Should someone tell _Lavender?_" Ginny asked, saying the girl's name with utter disliking.

Harry let out a laugh. "Do _you_ want to see her fussing over Won-Won?"

George raised his eyebrows. "Won-Won, you say? Ickle Ronniekins has a new nickname?" He and Fred grinned at the same time. "What a beautiful day this is turning out to be!"

Hermione chuckled quietly and then, with a meaningful look at Fred, stood up and said, "I'm going to go fetch my Ancient Runes book. Lots of studying to do. I'll be back in a minute."

Fred understood at once. "I'll go with you."

She did not go straight to Gryffindor Tower, but instead dragged him into an empty classroom. The same one where he'd first kissed her nearly a year ago. He leaned against a desk and tilted his head to the side, waiting for whatever it was she had to say.

"So this thing with Ron, him almost dying and all, it's been kind of an eye-opener, you know? We're at war, people can die at any moment without a warning, so there's no sense putting off saying anything, right? I'm going to tell you something that I've wanted to say for a while but just didn't have the guts. Don't feel like you have to say it back; I just want you to know." She took a deep, steadying breath. "I love you."

"Damn it," he muttered.

Hermione's eyes widened and her cheeks turned bright red. She tried to make light of it. "Well, not _precisely_ the reaction I was hoping for, but—"

"No, I mean, damn it, you beat me to it! Merlin, Hermione, I love you too."

He brought her into a kiss, and a familiar _click_ came from the doorway.

"Should've locked the fucking door," Hermione whispered before turning to see an anxious-looking Colin Creevey with his god damn camera.

"Should've _shut_ the fucking door," Fred corrected in an undertone.

"Isweartogod I'mnotstalkingyouguys Iwasjustwalkingbyand—"

"Colin," Hermione said sweetly. "Could you please speak at a normal speed, because I have no idea what you just said."

Still looking apprehensive, he explained, "I swear to god I'm not stalking you guys. I was just walking by and saw him start to kiss you and I thought it'd be a good picture and Merlin, I'm creepy and I'm just going to go now."

He was a few steps out of the room when Fred caught up with him. "Colin!"

The poor boy jumped a foot in the air and whirled around, frightened. "Y-yes?"

Fred grinned and asked, "Could I have the picture?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "S-sure," Colin stammered, handing it over before turning away again.

Fred let him get halfway down the corridor before calling, "One more thing!"

He was surely going to have a heart attack. He turned around and walked back to Fred. "What's that?"

Fred dug in his pocket for a minute before finding a couple Galleons. "Here you go! Since you've been taking such _lovely_ photographs, and you're just giving them to me, I feel like I owe you." He said it with utmost sincerity, which made Hermione wonder why Creevey was looking aghast and like he'd rather pour bubotuber pus on his hands than take the coins. "C'mon, it's the least I can do. It's _real,_" he added, as though that was a normal thing to say when offering someone money.

Colin took it, still with an expression of horror, and mumbled a very small, "Thank you."

"My pleasure." Fred winked, and that seemed to be all it took to send him running back down the hall.

Absolutely bewildered by the exchange she had just witnessed, Hermione cleared her throat. "Er, care to explain?"

"Explain what?" he asked airily, casually resuming their earlier walk to the Gryffindor Tower.

"Explain what the hell just happened?"

"Oh, if you insist..." He grinned, like he'd wanted her to ask. And he definitely had. "You asked a while back why he's so terrified of me. Well... do you remember back when everyone thought Harry was the Heir of Slytherin?"

"Naturally." It was hard to forget.

"Well _before_ that, before Colin was petrified, I got so sick of that bloody camera that I asked him if he'd take a photo of me and George to send to Mum, and I even offered to pay him for it."

"Is this going somewhere, or—"

"Patience, love," he said with a smirk. "We're getting there. He was eleven and innocent and clearly didn't know any better than to deal with George and me, so he agreed. The Galleon I gave him was fake—actually, it was a lot like the ones you made for the D.A., now that I think about it—and once he put it in his pocket, it started to burn through his robes and eventually stuck to his leg and gave him a pretty nasty burn—"

"How is that _anything_ like the fake Galleons I made?" she cut in.

He waved a hand dismissively. "Anyway, so the burn wouldn't go away with anything except the remedy George and I cooked up, and he eventually came to us, begging, and we agreed to mend it if he could quit fucking taking pictures."

"Okay, that's kind of horrible to do that to a first year, but everyone got pranked by you two. _Why_ exactly is he still so scared of you, four whole years later?"

"Well, I had a bit of a mean streak back then, and I may have resorted to threats... And then that night, the basilisk attacked him. I reckon me and George scaring the shit out of him was one of the last things he saw before getting petrified, and I _did_ feel a bit bad about that for a few minutes. When you lot woke up, he wouldn't go near us."

Hermione nodded, finally understanding. "That makes sense. When you're petrified, you're basically asleep for that long. Maybe it's not true for everyone, but I just kept seeing the same things again and again; I dreamed about the twenty-four hours leading up to being attacked. Over and over and _over._ So if it was the same thing for him, he kept having to relive your little prank for months. Dreaming about the same frightening event that much can make the people involved seem scary." She tried not to think about her nightmares about Mrs. Weasley.

That was it, the missing piece of the puzzle. Now he truly knew why Colin was so terrified of him, and he felt guilty about it. There was no time to dwell on that feeling of guilt, though, because the Fat Lady was looking at Hermione expectantly, waiting for the password.

"Oh, er, actually," Hermione muttered, looking abashed. "I forgot what I came up here for!"

"You're something else, Hermione," Fred said, laughing. They made their way back to the Hospital Wing quickly.

"You took a while," said Harry suspiciously.

"And I don't see an Ancient Runes book," Ginny added teasingly.

"_That's_ what I wanted!" Hermione exclaimed. "When we got up there, I'd forgotten."

There was a loud sniffle, and they looked to see Lavender by Ron's bedside. She had apparently shown up while they'd been gone, and she looked _devastated._ There was an awkward atmosphere, as neither Ginny nor Harry particularly wanted her there.

"Well, Freddie, I s'pose we'd best be on our way," said George, standing up and stretching.

"You're probably right. We've got customers to please, after all." He kissed Hermione's forehead, whispered, "I love you," and then the two swept out of the room.

* * *

Hermione was getting ready to go to bed fairly early—it had, after all, been a long day: one of her best friends had been poisoned, she'd told her boyfriend she loved him—when the door to the dormitory flew open and in walked a red-eyed Lavender, who gave her an indecipherable look.

Hermione just wanted to sleep, but she felt it impolite not to say anything, so she asked, "Er—how are you doing?"

Lavender promptly burst into tears.

Panicking, she said, "Lavender! Lavender, calm down! Ron's going to be _fine!_"

"It's not about Ron!" she wailed. "Oh, yes it is! Just not about him being poisoned!"

"What are you talking about?" she wondered as kindly as she could.

"I—I—I heard F-Fred tell you h-he loves you."

Not anywhere close to where Hermione thought this conversation was going. She was at a loss for words. _How_ was she expected to respond?

"_Does_ he love you?"

"Well, yes," she replied uncomfortably.

"But how do you _know_?"

This was rapidly turning into one of the single weirdest encounters Hermione had had while at Hogwarts. She and Lavender weren't close, and they rarely said more than a few words to each other. "I, well, er... I mean, he said it, first off, but I guess that's not enough. Just, just the way he acts around me." She smiled and elaborated, "How he looks at me, how he says my name, it's just little things, I guess. Why?"

"Ron's never said that he loves me," she sobbed. "I love him so much and I've told him and he says 'you too' or 'same' but never 'I love you.'"

Oh. Well, this was awkward. "Ah... I'm, um, sorry. I really am. But sometimes, er, boys aren't as good at being open about their feelings as girls are."

"But _Fred_ said it you _you,_" she argued.

"Yes, well, Fred's two years older and _slightly _more mature than his brother." This was just getting worse.

"If you say so," she mumbled, still sounding very upset. "Thanks for—well, just, thanks."

With that, she shut up, sending the room back into blissful silence.

* * *

So I actually hadn't planned on the Colin bit; it was a last minute thing. Who knows, he could pop up again before the end of this. (No promises as of now, though.) Thanks to **nsheldonb** and **sabbs123** for reviewing!


	16. Five of Wands

Their first fight occurred in, of all places, the Hospital Wing.

Fred was angry and upset about being left out of the battle _again,_ while so many friends and family members fought. He was absolutely _furious_ over what happened to Bill, devastated over the loss of Dumbledore; filled with hatred towards fucking _Snape_, an uncomfortable sense of relief that most of them had fared rather well considering what they'd been through in such a short amount of time, and anxiety over what was to come. The overload of emotions had him in an awful mood, and after the exchange between Remus and Tonks, he pulled Hermione to the far end of the room, next to the only vacant bed, where he thought he might have a little privacy to talk to her.

"So, er... There's something I want to discuss."

"Hold on." Despite her intense _loathing_ for the Prince, she used _Muffliato,_ if only to spare the rest of the visitors and patients from hearing their conversation. "Alright, shoot."

"You have to stop," he said bluntly.

"Stop _what?_" she asked sharply, though she knew full well where he was going with this.

"Stop _fighting, _that's what!"

_"What?!"_

"You heard me!" he hissed. "You're too young—"

"I'm seventeen," she interjected hotly.

"You're not even in the Order!"

"Oh, and the Order proves so bloody helpful, don't they? I didn't see _you_ breaking down the door to help out when we were fighting them off! But it's all good and well for you to tell _me_ not to defend myself and the people I care about!"

She had touched a nerve. "Nobody bothered to alert me to the fact that there was a fucking battle raging at Hogwarts. You _know_ I would've been here in a second if someone had told me!"

He was right; she did know that. But she was so irritated with what he was suggesting that she didn't bother with reason. "Really? Would you have? You still have your D.A. coin, yes?"

"I do. But I don't see what that's got to do with—"

"I sent out a message with the coins, and only _two_ people came to help! _Two,_ Fred, out of everyone, and you weren't one of them!"

"Oh, well I'm terribly sorry that I'm too busy to check that damn Galleon every chance I get," he snapped. "Some of us have other obligations, you know."

"Oh, yes," she sneered. "I'm sure that your joke shop is _far_ more important than innocent lives. You're absolutely right, and I'm sorry."

The sarcasm only succeeded in pissing him off further. "Not like you can talk, can you? You were here and hardly made much of a difference! Snape got away, Dumbledore is dead, and Bill is—well, he's—never mind. I'm sure it couldn't have been much worse if you _weren't_ helping."

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth; even in the state he was in, Fred knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had gone too far, crossed a line he shouldn't have. The second he'd said it, he wanted to take it back, but it was too late. Hermione's eyes filled with tears and instead of continuing the argument, she pushed past him and rejoined the group at Bill's bedside.

* * *

In the days between the battle and the funeral, there were a lot of extra people residing at Hogwarts. Many were parents who wanted to be close to their children; others were friends and family of those who were injured. The Heads of Houses—besides Snape, of course—agreed to allow them to stay in the castle, because it _was_ one of the safest places in the world, and gave them the option of staying with siblings/children/friends in the dormitories or in a few classrooms in which the desks had been Transfigured into beds.

George, who remembered all too well how small and cramped the dorms could seem with just one extra person and had no desire to return to that, decided to stay in a classroom with most of his family. Fred, on the other hand, thought that if he stayed in Gryffindor Tower, he might have more of a chance of apologizing to Hermione for being a prick. He stayed with Harry and Ron's year, and found that the room had been expanded and another bed had been added. The professors really did think of _everything._

As luck would have it, though, Hermione was nowhere to be found. He couldn't get up the stairs to her dormitory—damn the founders for not trusting boys!—and she was _never_ in the Common Room. He'd located a couple of her room mates and asked where she was, and they _always_ said she was upstairs, but that they would tell her he was looking for her. She even had people bringing her food. Was she really shutting herself off from _everyone?_

Nobody else seemed to have any trouble socializing. Quite the opposite, in fact. The first and second year students without older siblings were sleeping in the sixth and seventh year students' rooms at night because they were so frightened, and many people were sleeping in the Common Room because, even though they wouldn't voice this, they felt safer when they were surrounded by other people.

The night before the funeral, Fred was sitting in the corner of the crowded Common Room when Ginny approached him. Without so much as a _hello,_ she said, "She told me what you said."

He knew who _she_ was. "I figured she would. She has to know that I feel fucking terrible about saying that, doesn't she?"

Ginny shook her head. "It's not just the whole you-weren't-much-of-a-help-at-all insult, although that wasn't in your best interests either. She's actually more upset that you don't want her to fight anymore."

It took a second, but when his sister's words sank in, Fred felt—if possible—even worse. Of _course_ that was what she more more upset about. It stung that he'd been an arse, but he had told her her to quit fighting against the wizards who wanted witches like her eliminated; not to mention, her best friend was the main target. She wasn't a stick-on-the-sidelines kind. She would never be, and that was something he had to accept.

* * *

Fred sat next to Hermione at the funeral. She didn't stop him, but she didn't give any sign of acknowledgement either. Halfway through the service, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

He was sure she wasn't going to respond, but out of the side of her mouth, she said, "Later."

It was the first word she'd said to him since that night in the Hospital Wing, and he took it as progress.

Halfway through, she leaned her head on his shoulder but did not take the hand he offered. He understood this as _I'm still mad at you, but I need someone right now._

By the end, nearly everyone was crying. Fred was furiously trying to blink back tears, but to no avail; the droplets fell freely from his eyes, and a cool hand reached to wipe them away. As others began to stand, Hermione held Fred's face in both hands. "Look," she said softly and a little hoarsely. "I—"

"Me first," Fred insisted, and she withdrew her hands, knowing he would still look her in the eye. "I was a fucking idiot, Hermione, and I'd say _don't deny it_ but I know you won't because it's true. What I said was out of line; you did the best you could, and you helped save so many lives just by being here. And telling you to quit fighting—holy shit, I'm so fucking sorry." He started fiddling with his tie, anything to keep his hands busy while he talked. "I was just reeling, y'know? I mean, after everything that happened, knowing that _you_ still wanted to be out there fighting the Death Eaters... They—they—they got _Dumbledore,_ Hermione. And I just got to thinking, if they could get him just like _that,_ well...I mean, what would stop them from getting you? But when I tried to talk you out of it, I already knew I'd lost. I admit defeat. So here's the thing: while I don't _want_ you out there fighting, I know that you have to, and I will never try to stop you again. I'm not going to promise, because I'll falter on that when you get all dressed up for Bill and Fleur's wedding, but—"

"Fred. Please stop talking. Seriously."

He was worried she was going to reject his convoluted and lengthy apology, but he closed his mouth anyway.

"You were a prick, and a fucking idiot. Of course I'm not going to deny that! But I didn't exactly try to reason with you, did I? No, I jumped right into an argument and you went along with it because something terrible had just happened and we needed to lash out because anger is so much easier to deal with than sadness."

He sort of followed along, but not really. "So what you're saying is..." He waited for her to continue.

She pecked his lips. "I forgive you for being a fucking idiot, because—unfortunate and unexpected though it is—I seem to have a bit of a thing for a particular fucking idiot."

"Unfortunate?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "Tragic, really." She rested her head on his shoulder again, glad that they were back to normal.

From somewhere nearby, she heard that familiar _click,_ but she didn't turn to look for it. She knew Colin was not taking a picture of them this time, but one of the entire scene. Hermione didn't understand, though; this wasn't a day she wanted to preserve in photograph form forever. The greatest wizard to have ever lived was _gone._ Just like that.

Who knew what would happen next?

* * *

This chapter was really difficult to write and I actually kind of hate it, but whatever. Here it is! Four more chapters, I think. Thanks to **nsheldonb, seventeenandcrazy, KaitAstrophe95, 93 Diagon Alley,** and **Marion Hood** for reviewing!


	17. Five of Pentacles

She made her choice. When she decided to stay with Harry, she had a choice to make, a sacrifice she had never seen coming.

Hermione knew that her parents would not be safe, that sooner or later the Death Eaters would come knocking, wanting information on her, on Harry, on the whereabouts of who she was sure would soon enough be the three most wanted wizards (and witch!) in the world. Being Muggles, they wouldn't have any surefire way to protect themselves, so she did it for them. She _had to._ It was the only way to keep them safe, the only way to stop anybody from hurting them.

She did the right thing.

She did it to protect them.

That's what Hermione kept repeating in her head over and over. She did the right thing. It was the right thing to do. She was keeping her parents safe. They wouldn't miss her, because they didn't know she existed. She was merely the sound of the back door closing softly and a strange _crack!_ heard from down the street; she was background noise in their lives and not the daughter they didn't even know they had. She did the right thing. They would be in Australia within a week, far from Voldemort and his army, far from the unstable Ministry, far from Hermione. She did the right thing.

She did the right thing.

She was certain of it. But it still hurt like hell to know that her parents were out there and had no idea who she was, hurt even worse when Fred asked what was wrong and she told him what she'd done. But then he said just the right words, the words she was trying to convince herself of. "You did the right thing," he murmured, stroking her hair. "And when all of this is over, I'll go with you—we can find them and you can set their memories right."

Hermione smiled for the first time in a week when he said that. Fred was good at that, always saying exactly what she needed to hear.

* * *

Hermione had to figure out how to do the same thing for him, though she had never been the kind of person who said the right things at the right time. He was badly shaken by what happened to his twin—they all were, but Fred, especially, was having a hard time coping with it. "It could have been so much worse," he muttered, face buried in his hands.

"Yes, but it _wasn't_," she said soothingly, running her fingers across his back.

He groaned something incomprehensible, hands still pressed to his face.

"Look," she said fiercely, putting her hands on his shoulders and not continuing until he looked up. "Snape is going to get what's coming to him! He—he'll get what he deserves. For giving Voldemort the details of the prophecy, for everything he did to us while we were at Hogwarts, for k-kiling Dumbledore, for George's ear. When we take Voldemort down, we'll take him down too!"

Fred didn't say anything, just pulled her into his arms and that gesture was enough to let her know that she had, in that instance, said the right thing.

* * *

Their time was limited, sadly, and not just by the dwindling days leading up to the wedding. No, what with his job, her attempts at planning with Ron and Harry, and Mrs. Weasley forcing wedding preparations on anyone who stood still for three seconds, they were lucky to find a few minutes with each other. Time was running out, and they both knew it, and they both hated it.

The evening before the wedding, Fred tapped on the door to the room where Hermione was helping Ginny try on her bridesmaid a final time before the big day. "I thought you were working today," the girls said at the same time.

"George let me take a half day." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you say to one last night at the flat, before—well, you know."

She nodded. She'd seen this coming, and had already made sure Harry didn't mind too much if she missed some of his birthday celebration just in case she was elsewhere. He'd smiled knowingly and said it was alright if she felt it necessary to spend the night at Fred's. Her friends knew her too well sometimes. "Any chance you could go now?"

"You _can_ get yourself out of this, right?" she asked Ginny, slightly unsure, but Ginny nodded brightly.

"Go, have fun, but not too much—oh, to hell with that. Have all kinds of fun! There's a bloody war going on, after all!"

"In that case," said Fred, eyes twinkling. "We'd better get going."

* * *

"I don't want you to go."

Fred's room was in almost total darkness, where they could just barely make out each other's faces, so Hermione didn't feel embarrassed or ashamed at all when she whispered in response, "There's a part of me that doesn't want me to go either."

"But you have to," he added glumly. "And I can't stop you, and I _won't_ stop you. I don't want to put you in the position where you feel like you're forced to choose between me and them; you know I'd never do that to you. I just wish—" Fred faltered, wondering if he should even dare say it.

"You just wish _what?_"

"I just wish that you were more, well, normal, I guess. That you had different friends, so you wouldn't feel so obligated to join in on this."

"Two things wrong with that. Firstly, if I had different friends, I wouldn't be friends with Ron, so I probably wouldn't have had any reason to get close to you, and we wouldn't be here right now having this conversation at all. Secondly, I would still want to stop Voldemort even if I wasn't friends with him."

"Yes, but you wouldn't be going on such a specific mission—that you _refuse_ to give me any details about—with Harry, would you? Although the first point is very good, and I s'pose it's enough for me." He kissed her once softly on the lips, and then on each cheek. He wasn't sure what time it was, but it was late. He didn't want to sleep, didn't want to waste the precious few hours he had left alone with Hermione, but his eyes were beginning to droop.

It was several long minutes later, maybe even an hour, long enough that he thought she was asleep, that he heard her crying. "What's wrong?" he whispered.

She didn't reply, but she sat up. He followed suit, and could see the outline of her hands near her neck, fumbling for something.

He reached and found his wand. _"Lumos!"_ The room was filled with light, and he saw what she was doing. "Why are you—"

"Take this," she said, her voice surprisingly strong, holding out the firework necklace he'd given her for her birthday.

"No, I—I can't. It's yours, Hermione." This was scaring him, though he couldn't put a finger on why.

"_Please,"_ she begged. "I don't, I don't want anything to happen to it. Just—just keep it for me until I get back?"

"But—"

Her voice had lost its strong quality and was now just a croak. "Please, Fred. This necklace is one of my favorite things and you gave it to me and if I get hurt or go somewhere dangerous—and both of those are going to happen, we know it—then I don't want it getting damaged or destroyed. _Please,"_ she said one last time.

"Okay," he agreed quietly.

Hands trembling, she fastened it securely around his neck, kissing a spot right above the chain. "I love you, Fred Weasley," she whispered in his ear.

"And I love _you,_ Hermione Granger, and you are absolutely not _giving_ me this necklace, by any means. I'm holding onto it for you, but by letting me wear it while you're gone, you're promising me that you'll come back, okay? So promise me that, that you'll come back to me?"

She hated to lie to him. What was worse, she wanted what she said to be the truth, but there was no way she could know whether she'd live a week once she was out there. But she needed to reassure him. "I promise."

He extinguished his wand and they laid back down. He propped his head up on his hand, looked in the general direction of her face, and said, "I still don't want you to go."

"I have to."

"But _why?_ Why is it you three—a bunch of teenagers? Why does it have to be the three of you that stops him?"_  
_

"Because Dumbledore wants us to. I—I mean, he wanted _Harry_ to, he told him to, but I think he always knew Ron and I would go along. We can't just leave him to do this all by himself."

Fred was satisfied by the time she'd said _Dumbledore._ If it was something he had really, truly believed they had to do, then there was no sense arguing with it. It didn't mean that Fred _liked_ that his not-quite-eighteen year old girlfriend was choosing to leave all safety behind and go on some sort of secret mission than nobody in the Order even knew the details of; he would probably _never_ like that. But he accepted it.

The remainder of the night passed without much speaking, though neither of them slept. When the sun started to rise, they knew their time was up. "Well, I guess this is it," said Fred sadly.

"We've still got the wedding," Hermione reminded him with a happiness that she just didn't feel.

"Yeah, there's that." He sighed, but then his eyes lit up. "I have something for you!" He jumped off the bed and started to hunt through his untidy closet.

While his back was turned, Hermione slipped an envelope under his pillow, with a tiny corner poking out, so he would notice it when he got home that night, but not while she was there. "What is it?" she asked. She never had lost the wary tone whenever Fred said he had something for her, though it never turned out to be trick sweets or any other Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products. But she always had that fear in the back of her mind that maybe _this_ time, he would get her.

He located it at last. It was one of his sweaters, probably the one she borrowed last Christmas. "Take this with you," he said firmly. "It's not a horrible loss if something happens to it, but it's—"

"Something of yours," she finished, eyes shining. She threw her arms around him. "You really are the best, you know."

"Oh, I know." He grinned and kissed the top of her head. "But we've got a wedding to attend, and I doubt you're going in _that_, so we should get going."

* * *

"It's crazy," said Hermione as she danced with Fred. "Crazy to think that even with everything going on, people are still so _happy._"

"How so?" he asked.

"Look at everyone here, not just Bill and Fleur," she instructed. "It's like, this wedding is something so ordinary that it reminds everyone that there's still happiness and love, even when it's this miserable."

Fred glanced around and saw that she was quite right—nearly everyone there, save his Aunt Muriel and the man she seemed to be heatedly arguing with, had a smile on their face. He grinned, though his next words were sad. "I'm really gonna miss you."

She drew herself closer to him. "I'll miss you too."

"Merlin, I don't want you to go."

She just nodded, trying not to think about how little time they had left. She had so much she wanted to say, but couldn't get any of it out past the lump that was forming in her throat.

Something silver landed in the middle of the dance floor, taking form as a lynx. "Blimey, that's Kingsley's Patronus," Fred muttered, more to himself than Hermione.

_"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."_

There was a very long second in which everyone in the room was frozen, a second where nobody had yet processed what they just heard.

In that second, Hermione's thoughts raced. _I have to go, have to find Harry and Ron and get the hell out of here. And I have to kiss Fred, just one more time... It could be the last chance I ever get. Oh, I don't even get to say a proper goodbye. But maybe it's better this way. Where are Harry and Ron? Found Ron. Where H— Oh, right, he's in disguise... There he is! Okay, one kiss, and that's it..._

Fred's thoughts during that second were not quite as long-winded as his girlfriend's. _Well, that's one way to clear out a wedding!_

And then as one, every person there seemed to spring to action, either Disapparating on the spot or trying to locate their families or rushing to protect the area. Fred and Hermione locked eyes and both lunged forward, kissing fiercely, their _I love you_s lost in each other's mouths. And then she was pulling away and sprinting to Harry and Ron.

Fred turned away, not wanting to watch her leave. He located Ginny, who he always felt a sense of responsibility towards, and when he looked back, Hermione and the others were gone.

* * *

I think this is one of my favorite chapters so far. Dunno why, though. Thanks to **KaitAstrophe95, 93 Diagon Alley, **and **nsheldonb** for reviewing!


	18. The High Priestess

Hermione Granger was a fighter.

It had taken her a very long time to come to this realization, though others seemed to know it long before she did. She had spent so much of her life thinking she was just the brains that helped the real fighters—the girl who used logic to _help_ _Harry_ get through the protections to rescue the Sorcerer's Stone—the witch who figured out that it was a basilisk that was attacking people to _help_ _Harry_ defeat Tom Riddle—the know-it-all who took too many classes and used her Time-Turner to _help_ _Harry_ save Sirius from the dementors—the friend who stayed up several nights researching to _help Harry_ win the Triwizard Tournament—the student who was fed up with not learning anything in her joke of a Defense Against the Dark Arts class and came up with ideas to _help Harry_ start Dumbledore's Army—the one who was only trying to _help Harry_ by insisting that the Half-Blood Prince was evil—the girl who had been running around for months _helping Harry_ hunt Horcruxes.

But now, she was realizing that she was so much more than a helper—the girl who lit Professor Snape's robes on fire when she thought he was trying to jinx Harry off his broom, who made it through a set of obstacles set to keep the most powerful wizards out there—the witch who stuck by her best friend even when others were accusing him of wanting to kill people just like her, who after being petrified by the basilisk still managed to get the message to Harry and Ron about what was causing the attacks—the know-it-all who traveled through time to save two innocent lives, who braved the Whomping Willow and one of the most dangerous men she had ever encountered in order to rescue Sirius Black—the friend who ensured Harry's safety during the Triwizard Tournament, who taught Harry some of the spells he would go on to use against Death Eaters—the student who stood up to Umbridge and did her best to protect the secrecy of the D.A., who fought against Voldemort's closest supporters in the Department of Mysteries—the one who _knew_ the Half-Blood Prince was evil, who fought Death Eaters _again_ near the end of her sixth year—the girl who had saved Harry's life time and time again and helped find two Horcruxes.

She was eighteen and she'd already fought in more battles than many witches and wizards ever would.

Hermione Granger was a fucking fighter.

But she wasn't fighting _against_ anything. Nothing was ever gained by fighting against the other side. No, she was fighting _for_ something.

She was fighting for her parents, who didn't know who she was. They were out there, safe and alive and happy, and she wanted them to stay that way forever. She knew that if their side won the war and she survived, then one day, however far in the future it may be, she would go find them in Australia and fix their memories, and tell them all about everything she did while they were unaware of her existence.

She was fighting for Fred, the man she was hopelessly in love with. She hadn't seen him since the wedding, but she knew he, like her parents, was alive and—hopefully—safe. Well, as safe as one could be at a time like this. The first time she'd tuned in to _Potterwatch, _Fred—or Rapier, as he was called on the show—had said, "And Reader, if you're listening, just know that I love you so much and we _will_ see each other again." Ron had informed her that Reader was the nickname Fred had come up with for her, since she liked books so much, and also that he said something to that effect every time, just on the off-chance that Hermione was tuning in. She hoped he was right about seeing each other again, because it had been far too long since she'd seen his face, aside from in the pictures she'd brought with her—and also because she wanted to ask him _how_, out of all the possible nicknames out there, the best he could come up with was _Reader?_

She was fighting for Harry, the reason she'd been dragged into this war in the first place. She wasn't so much dragged as she went willingly, but if she hadn't been friends with Harry, she would never have gotten in as deep as she was. It felt like the three of them had been children just days ago, and he and Ron had rescued her from the troll in the bathroom, and now here they were, fighting against a much worse enemy. Harry was one of her biggest inspirations; he'd had so much thrown onto his shoulders at such an early age, but he never really let it get him down, and he just went with it and kept plugging forward.

She was fighting for Ron, who she knew didn't want to be fighting this war, but did it anyway because of duty and obligation and loyalty and friendship. Even with his occasional bouts of cowardice, shown at times when any human would be scared to death, he was a true Gryffindor. No matter what happened or how furious he grew, Ron would always come back to them.

She was fighting for Ginny, who was frequently told she was too young to be fighting alongside them, but who was was more powerful than half the Death Eaters and could hold her own in duels, who never wanted to be left out of an opportunity to help out, who had grown up so much since she was the first year who couldn't even speak when she was around Harry.

She was fighting for Neville, and Luna, and all of her friends that she had been through so much with. Her friends had come through time and time again, and put themselves in danger because they wanted to help instead of stay on the sidelines and let others do the fighting for them. They never asked for anything in return, never questioned the favors asked of them; if she or Harry or Ron had needed something, Neville and Luna would come and help at the drop of a hat.

She was fighting for people like Xenophilius Lovegood, who were punished for speaking out about their beliefs.

She was fighting for Muggles and Muggle-borns and blood traitors and every single person out there that Voldemort's side wanted exterminated.

She was fighting for Bill and Fleur and the Weasleys and her professors and the Order and everyone who had ever helped them in any way, risked their lives to help keep the three of them safe.

She was fighting for Tonks and Lupin's son, who she hoped would grow up in a far better world, who was born so recently that he had no way of possibly knowing what it was like out there, who didn't know how hard his parents were working to make the world a better place for him; and for Tonks and Lupin, who she desperately wanted to live to see their baby grow up. She knew she would give everything she had to defend them, because they deserved a happy life more than almost anybody.

She was fighting for Dobby and Sirius and Mad-Eye and and Ted Tonks and Dumbledore and everyone else who had died in this stupid, useless war.

She was fighting for what was right, and she wouldn't quit until she died, or the war came to an end.

When Hermione was younger, she was afraid of dying, though she always thought it would be a long time in the future, decades away. Now, though, when every day was a struggle for her life and she knew that she could be killed at any time, she was no longer afraid. Death was, as Dumbledore wisely said, but the next great adventure. If it happened, it would happen, and though she would do all in her power to stop it, she acknowledged the likelihood that an early death would be her fate.

She had grown wiser over the years. She'd always been clever—there was no use in denying that. But since she'd left school, especially, she had learned so much. She'd also gained a bit of keen insight into the world and what happened, not in a Professor Trelawney kind of way, but in her own way. She got feelings about certain days, and she had feeling about tonight.

Tonight would be the end.

Hermione didn't know what, exactly, would come to an end tonight. The war—unlikely. The world—slightly less unlikely, but implausible nonetheless. Her life—very possible, probable in fact. But something was ending. She just knew it.

As she stood in the Room of Requirement, she glanced around and saw so many familiar faces, many mangled and bruised with poorly-healed scars. They had gone through hell, but they'd never given in. They'd kept on resisting, when it would have been easier and safer for many of them to bend to the will of Snape and the Carrows. They were dedicated and loyal and everything anybody could ask for in a friend.

These were the strongest, bravest, most wonderful people she'd ever met in her entire life. They were the strangest, weirdest, most out-there people she'd ever met in her entire life. They were the greatest group of people in the world. They were a patchwork quilt of oddities who were sewn together because they were different and they believed in Harry and Dumbledore and fighting for the right reasons. If she'd been able to move, Hermione would have hugged the life out of each and every one of them.

Members of the Order started to trickle into the room, and she found herself torn. Part of her wanted Fred to come because fighting alongside him in what very well could be her last fight would be so meaningful and so fitting, but part of her wanted him to stay far away because the idea of him getting hurt was more than she could bear. When she saw George, though, she knew it would be mere seconds before he arrived.

And there he was, stepping through the opening in the wall, looking for her. Their eyes met, and he crossed the gap quickly, engulfing her in the tightest hug he'd ever given. "I knew you'd be here," he whispered into her hair.

She couldn't speak for a full minute. It had been such a long time since he'd embraced her, and she had so much to tell him after all of this time, but all that came out was, "I love you, I love you, I love you." Over and over again, she said the words quietly in his ear, like she was making up for all the _I love you_s she hadn't been able to say for months.

"I love you too," he breathed gently, just once, but with enough emotion that saying it once was enough. He pulled back enough that he could get a good look at her, making sure she didn't show any too-serious injuries. "I hear you were tortured."

She nodded slowly, still trying to take in the fact that he was _here._ He was perfectly fine and in front of her and breathing and speaking and everything was okay because they were together again. She reached out a shaky finger to trace the chain around his neck. "You're still wearing it," she said weakly.

"Haven't taken it off," said Fred proudly. "Are you okay?"

Hermione nodded again. She had forgotten about everybody else in the room. Right now, it was just her and Fred. Nothing else mattered. "I'm fine." Her voice was embarrassingly croaky. "It was only Bellatrix—"

"I know," he said, eyes flashing. "I don't think anyone here wants to kill her as much as I do right now. Well, except maybe Neville."

She started to loosen up and a smile played on her lips. "I heard your message, Rapier."

He grinned back at her and took her hand in his as Harry started to talk to the room at large.

It hit Hermione how much had happened. Three years ago, the worst wizard to have ever existed returned from the dead. Two years ago, the world realized he was back after she and several others risked their lives trying to save a man who wasn't even in danger. One year ago, the only man Voldemort ever feared had been killed and the students had, once again, dueled with Dark wizards many years their senior.

A lot had happened in a few years.

And it all came down to tonight.

* * *

A few of you seem interested about whether Fred lives or dies. Wellll... I refuse to give anything away about that. BUT, whichever happens, I'm going to post a one-shot with the alternate ending. Thanks to **AgentBrenna, nsheldonb, 93 Diagon Alley,** and **Lunarox67** for reviewing!


	19. The Fool

_Fred,_

_By the time you read this, I will, of course, be long gone. This took me longer than I care to admit to write, because I start crying every time I try, but I finally sucked it up and I'm writing it because I don't want to leave you without anything from me. I wish I could give you a full goodbye in person, and maybe I will, but I know there's no guarantee of it._

_You're probably wondering what's so important that we had to dash right after the wedding, and I bet you're hoping I will have written down exactly what it is I'm up to with Harry and Ron, but I can't. If you know, you're in more danger than you can imagine. All I can say is that we are out hunting the only thing—well, __**things,**__ to be more accurate—that can lead to Voldemort's downfall. So yes, it's pretty damn important._

_You have to know that there's a chance, quite the high chance, that I won't survive. I know that, and I've accepted it. I want you to do the same. I'm hoping that I'll make it out alive, but just be prepared, and don't be too shocked if you hear news that they've found my body somewhere._

_As tempting as it might be, I ask that you don't try to contact me in any way. Not just because it could put us in terrible danger if an owl swoops down when we're in hiding somewhere, but also because you could be in grave danger also for attempting to get in touch with one of us. I expect the Ministry won't be run by our people for much longer, and when the other side infiltrates, they'll be keeping a close watch on anybody associated with Harry. Don't make it worse on yourself by trying to write to me._

_I have no way of knowing how long this is going to take. Who knows, we could hit a stroke of unbelievable luck and be home by Christmas. Don't hold your breath, though; I'm not counting on it, and it's almost impossible. It could take a year or five years or ten or twenty. We may never finish it. I don't expect you to wait around for me forever; that would just be cruel. If it looks like I'm never going to come back, or if they __**do**__ find me dead somewhere, I want you to move on. I hope that's not what it comes down to, but please don't spend your whole life waiting on me._

_I can't write much more without breaking down, so I'm ending this short. But I want you to know that I love you. I love you so much, Fred, and it hurts so much to have to leave you. In another world, we could have had the perfect life. And maybe we will, when the war is over. Maybe we'll both survive and we can be together again. But until whatever happens, until we hopefully meet again, just know that I love you._

_Hermione_

Fred's eyes stung. She was gone—their brief farewell at the wedding was the last time he would see her for a long time. He wanted to write back, wanted to tell her he loved her too, tell her she was insane and he would wait as long as he had to and that there was no chance in hell he was just going to give up on her because she was gone for a year or two. He would be right here when she got back, and assuming _she_ still wanted _him_, they could pick up right where they left off.

The third paragraph shook him the most. She was so ready to die if she had to, so convinced she wouldn't make it. He wished there was a way to find her and reassure her that everything would be okay. He would figure it out somehow, in a way that didn't throw her into immediate danger.

* * *

A month later, the sound of shouting woke Fred up. Disoriented, he sat up and tried to remember why he was in his old bedroom at the Burrow. Why hadn't he gone back home?

Right. They were seeing Ginny off today. But it was far too early for that. Who was up and arguing at this hour? He crept downstairs and peered into the kitchen, finding George and their father glaring at each other.

"I don't see _why_ she has to go back!" George yelled furiously. "Isn't it safe here?"

"Hogwarts is the safest place!" Arthur explained. He was trying to keep his cool, as he was never one to lose his temper, but his son was trying his patience right now.

"You mean it _was_ the safest place," he said coolly. "Now that Dumbledore's gone—I mean, they put _Snape_ in charge, Dad. They've got Death Eaters teaching two classes!"

"George, drop it. She's going, and that's final." Their dad took several breaths, working on calming down.

"George," a quiet voice behind Fred said, making everyone jump. "I want to go."

"Er, how long have you two been there?" asked Arthur, looking worried.

"Long enough," they both said. Fred grinned at his sister, though she didn't return it.

"But Gin," said Fred, trying to reason with her. "It's fucking dangerous there!"

"It's bloody dangerous everywhere," she snapped. "But Hogwarts still has McGonagall and Flitwick and all the rest and Neville and Luna will be there and I really do want to go. I'll be good," she promised.

"No you won't." They all looked at George, who seemed to be slowly accepting that his little sister was indeed going to go back to school, even though it had been infiltrated by three known Death Eaters, one of whom had murdered the previous headmaster. "You're a Weasley!"

Watching her wave goodbye from the train a few hours later was one of the worst experiences of Fred's life, right up there with Dumbledore's funeral, the end of Bill and Fleur's wedding, and being kicked off the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He suddenly found himself agreeing with what George had thought earlier, that she would be safer at home, but now it was too late and she was gone and he had no idea what was going to happen to her while she was at Hogwarts.

They opened the shop early that afternoon, and Fred let out a sad chuckle while he thought about it. Not so long ago, he would have been thrilled that she was now safely at Hogwarts, sure that nothing could happen to her there. But things had changed. Nowhere was safe anymore. Not even what was once the safest place in all of the world.

Business was slow, and Fred would have been doomed to dwell on his thoughts if a savior hadn't appeared in the form of Lee Jordan bursting through the door, panting and clutching a stitch in his chest, apparently having run all the way there from his own flat. When he caught his breath, he beamed at his redheaded friend and said four words. "Best idea ever. _Potterwatch."_

* * *

_Potterwatch_ was not a nightly radio show, nor did it run on any kind of consistent schedule; that would have been far too dangerous. As it was, they were risking their lives. But they all knew it was well worth it. They were trying to keep hope alive, let everyone know that there was still a reason to hold on, get out the information nobody would have heard otherwise. And of course, Fred could always make the listeners laugh, whether on purpose or unintentionally.

He'd figured out quickly that he could use _Potterwatch_ to try and get a message out to Hermione without being overly obvious to anyone other than those who knew him. He said something directed to her every time they had the show, and it would be worth Lee's chuckling and Lupin's pitying looks if she heard him just once.

He had no way of knowing that she heard him, but he just had to hope that at least one time, she was sitting in a tent somewhere and had her radio out and heard him say that he loves her and that they'll see each other soon. It was one of the few things that got him through the days.

Another thing that helped him through happened in the middle of January. It was George's day off, and business was still just crawling along. People occasionally dropped by for a laugh, but rarely stayed very long. A middle-aged witch he had never seen came in with her young daughter. Very quietly, she said, "Thank you. I, I know you_'_re part of _that show_, and I just wanted to say thank you for being the only reliable source of information we've got."

Fred smiled, taken aback. "Well, er, you're welcome."

She proceeded to talk for fifteen minutes about all of the reasons she appreciated _Potterwatch. _She said that her husband was the Half-blood they'd reported was found alive but throughly addled two weeks earlier, and that it was such a relief to know he was good and well and recovering and that she would have _still_ been worried sick if she hadn't heard from the show.

When she and her beaming daughter left, arms laden with various products, it occurred to Fred that he was doing it:

He was making a difference.

* * *

Fred had two goals, now that they were at Hogwarts and preparing for what many agreed would be the final battle of the war. After Hermione confirmed that it was indeed Bellatrix who tortured her—though he'd known that all along; she was the only Death Eater besides Greyback who really reveled in the pain of their victims—he made it his mission to ensure that tonight was her last night. He didn't have a solid plan for it, but he knew that if he teamed up with Neville, they could do it. Nobody hated that woman more than Neville Longbottom, and it was time he avenged his parents.

The second goal was actually the one he intended to accomplish first, though he was far more nervous about it than the prospect of potentially killing one of the worst Death Eaters. He was more terrified of this than he was of anything else, including his mother when she was angry but pretending she was only disappointed, Ginny when she got fired up about something, and Voldemort himself. And he couldn't enlist anybody else's help on this one; George was the only other person who knew about it, and he had no advice to offer on the subject. If it went wrong, this was one situation where Fred knew he couldn't use his wand to fix the situation. He had one shot at it, and this could be his only chance.

"Fred!" Percy called in a whisper-yelled. "Help me with—"

"Sorry, Perce, but I've really got to go do something."

Percy looked outraged. "_What_ could possibly be more important than securing the castle and getting ready to fight? Are you just not taking orders from me because you're still holding a grudge?"

Fred glanced down the corridor and saw the witch he needed to talk to. "Look, I said I forgive you and I'm glad you finally saw the light. But I've only got one opportunity to do this and—"

"What _is_ it, though?" he demanded, looking at his brother with curiosity and concern.

Fred sighed and checked around him, then pulled a small object out of his pocket.

"Oh," said Percy softly. "Just in case, right?" He clapped Fred on the back when he nodded in respond to the question. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go do it!"

He didn't need telling twice; he ran faster than he ever had, catching up with Hermione in just seconds. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into a classroom.

"Fred, what the hell is going on?"

"I, uh, I—I—I've got s-something to talk to you about," he stammered. Oh, this was already going poorly; he was stuttering and he hadn't even asked yet!

"Is this really the time?"

Taking a deep breath and hoping his show of confidence was convincing, he said, "Yes! It _is_ the time. Hermione, there's a war going on, and this is going to be the biggest battle any of us have ever fought in. There's a good chance you could die, or I could die, or we both could."

"Is this depressing speech going somewhere?" she interrupted impatiently.

"Yes!" he exclaimed again. He fumbled in his pocket for the box. "I love you, and I'm sure you know that, but that's about all I'm certain about right now. I don't know who's going to win tonight. I don't know who's going to live and who's going to die. I don't know if I'll survive ten minutes against them. But I know that I love you, and I may never get another chance to ask you this, so here goes." He dropped to a knee and presented her with the ring. "Hermione Jean Granger, will you marry me?"

"Yes, you fool, of course I will!" she cried, tackling him to the carpeted floor and kissing all over his face.

Relief washed over him. _She said yes! She said yes! She said yes!_ Hands shaking slightly, he slid the ring on her finger.

"A perfect fit," she whispered, grinning.

As they left the room, he said, "You know, Hermione Weasley has a nice sound to it."

* * *

Fred made a mental note to ask Percy about the jinx he'd just used later. It was quite impressive; Thicknesse was turning into some sort of strange sea creature. Hexes were flying and Percy made a joke and they all started to laugh and then the world exploded.

* * *

Aaaand on that note, this chapter is over! Just one more chapter, plus the alternate ending. Thanks to **nsheldonb, 93 Diagon Alley, Lunarox67, bookwormtildeath, **and **RinChan0159** for reviewing!


	20. Four of Wands

No one could identify the what exactly caused the explosion. Perhaps it had been a combination of several spells at once, or a hex the Death Eaters knew that they had never heard of. Maybe the wall had been weakening for hours with all of the spells that had been ricocheting off of it and it just took a simple charm to make it blow up all at once. Maybe Harry's _Stupefy_ had hurled that huge Death Eater into the wall with too much force, and that was what caused it. Whatever happened, they all knew that the damage was extensive. They could feel bruises forming, blood leaking from fresh wounds.

As the dust was settling, it was impossible to see much of what was going on. All that was visible were two shocks of red hair on the floor, the rest of their bodies covered with pieces of the wall. Neither of them were moving. Ron and Harry rushed to roll one of them over, checking for any signs of life, anything to prove he wasn't gone.

When Hermione's eyes had cleared, she saw a glint of something shiny amidst the rubble. She knew at once that it was her necklace, the one Fred was still wearing, and that the blast had been strong enough to blow it off from around his neck. He had a gash on his head, with drops of blood spilling down onto his face and the floor, but showed no other signs of injury. Still, he wasn't moving. It must have been something internal, harder to mend. More difficult to locate in the first place. She dropped to her knees next to his motionless form, shaking his shoulders and beginning to cry. "No, no, no!" she screamed, though it was useless. "No, Fred, no!"

He couldn't be dead. He was only twenty, too young to die. They were going to get _married!_ He was supposed to have decades ahead of him, years they could've spent together. This wasn't _fair!_

"Hermione," said Harry quietly. "We have to get going."

"No! We can't—we can't just _leave_ him here!" she argued, turning to Ron for support. This was his brother! Surely he'd lend a hand. But Ron just shook his head. "Percy!" she cried helplessly, glancing around and looking for the only sensible one left. "Help me move him? Someone? Please," she begged.

But nobody answered.

* * *

It wasn't supposed to happen.

Hadn't the Weasleys suffered enough? Ginny had been possessed, Arthur had nearly been killed by a snake, Bill had been mauled by one of the most notorious werewolves, and George had had his ear cut off. They had been through hell; the youngest son had been out in the world fighting Death Eaters and helping Harry Potter in his quest to defeat Voldemort at the age of seventeen, and had been facing various evils since age eleven. The Weasleys had been through more than any family should ever have to.

And now one of them was dead.

Molly was openly weeping, while Arthur sat beside her, face stony. He still wasn't sure how to feel about any of it, still in a state of shock from everything they had been dealing with. He was sure that in the next few weeks, it would all finally sink in. But for now, he was stony and numb. It had been a tough few days for them, having to attend so many funerals for friends: Tonks and Lupin, for instance. And now here they were, burying their son.

Bill was on the other side of his mother, patting her back gently, trying to comfort her while keeping his own emotions in check. This was his brother. As the eldest, he'd always felt a duty to protect his siblings, and he hadn't even been nearby when he died. Fleur took his hand in hers, sensing that he needed it, and he held on like she was his life raft. On Fleur's other side sat Charlie and then George, who both stared straight ahead, jaws set.

The next row had Ginny at the end, grasping Harry's hand for dear life as tears dripped down her cheeks. Ron was next to Harry, and though he focused on what Kingsley was saying, he kept eyeing his sister and Harry with slight suspicion. Hermione was on Ron's other side, shoulders shaking from time to time in a silent sob.

Fingers laced tightly with Hermione's, the last person in their row was Fred Weasley.

"Percy will be missed not just by those in attendance today, but by the entire wizarding world," Kingsley finished in his deep, soothing voice. "I invite anyone else who has something to say to come forward now."

Fred yanked his hand free from Hermione's, startling her, and sprang to the front where Kingsley had been seconds earlier. "Percy was a prat," he began. Ron and George chuckled. His mother glared at him. His father gave him a _please don't_ kind of look. "He was. We all know it. I'm sure _he_ even knew it! I spent almost three years hating him, planning out very vivid and elaborate death scenes for him. In fact, just a few weeks ago, I dreamed up one involving goblins and—" He caught sight of his mother's face and hastily cleared his throat. "Er, but I guess maybe this isn't the proper time. Bugger. Well, see me afterwards if you'd like to hear about it."

After another sharp glance from his mum, he cleared his throat and continued. "Anyway, Percy... Well, there's a lot of negative things we can say about him. I could fill a few books about his negative qualities. But here's the thing, despite all of his faults, he came around in the end. Even though he got in too deep for a while, and I didn't think he'd ever return to us, he knew where he really belonged. He saved my life, pushed me out of the way of the worst of the blast so that it hit _him_ instead. His final act was to ensure that _I_ lived, knocking me out in the process and giving me perhaps the worst concussion a wizard has ever gotten, but his heart was in the right place. He willingly died in place of me, even though we were on non-speaking terms for years. Before he died, Percy made sure everyone knew which side he was on, and _that_ is what he will be remembered for." With a slight nod at George, he walked back to his seat to a smattering of applause.

George very subtly waved his wand under his chair, and fireworks started to go off. Everyone began to smile. It was a happy funeral; Percy had died fighting. It wasn't a time to mourn his death, but to celebrate his life. Fred's speech and George's fireworks were attempts to lighten the mood, and both were successful.

Hermione turned to her boyfriend—wait, no, her _fiancé._ She was still getting used to being engaged. "You," she said slowly, "are _not_ writing your own vows for our wedding."

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You started your speech _at your own brother's funeral_ with 'Percy is a prat.' What would your vows be? 'Hermione is a know-it-all with the occasional bitchy tendencies, but I promise to cherish her forever anyway?'"

Fred laughed loudly and kissed the top of her head. "You, Hermione, are one of a kind. And while you definitely _are_ a bit of a know-it-all, you're not a bitch. Also, I think I _will_ write my own vows. You can write yours, too. It'll be perfect!" His tone was joking, but he meant it. They hadn't really talked about any of the details of their wedding yet—not that there had been time in the last week or so, with him just barely escaping death and having to spend two nights in the Hospital Wing and all of the funerals they'd had to attend and the interviews for the _Quibbler_ that Luna insisted they all participate in—so he thought this would be a nice place to start.

She could tell he was serious, but before she could decide whether it was the best idea, Ginny leaped up. "Before you all leave," she said, her voice carrying over the crowd that was slowly beginning to disperse. "I'd like to invite you all back to the Burrow for a party!"

Everyone stared at her. "Not—not a _funeral _party. Merlin, no! It's an engagement party!" She noticed that they were all now glancing at her left hand, looking for a ring, then appearing even more perplexed when there was no ring in sight. "Not for _me!_ It's for— Oh!" She shot a mildly frightened look at her friend. "You haven't told anyone else yet, have you? Damn. Er, well, this is uncomfortable. Ah, a certain lucky couple is engaged and we're celebrating it at our house, so..." Face as red as her hair, she grabbed Harry's arm and they Disapparated.

"Damn it," Hermione muttered. They'd been trying to keep it a secret until everything had died down. The only people that knew were Harry, Ron, Ginny, George, and Percy. George knew because Fred had gone to him seeking advice. Percy had known because Fred had been forced to tell him. Harry and Ron knew because when they all thought Fred was dead—in their defense, his pulse had been _really_ faint and he hadn't _seemed_ to be breathing and they were all reeling from the explosion—and she had refused to leave his body, Ron had spotted her engagement ring. Ginny knew because Harry apparently didn't understand the words _don't tell anybody, not even Ginny_ and had told her three days later.

The engagement party, now, _that_ was more of a surprise to Hermione and Fred than the actual engagement was to everyone else. Or so they thought.

Molly whirled around to look at Fred, then at Hermione's hand. Her eyes widened when she saw the ring on Hermione's finger. She nudged her husband and pointed. As they were gawking, Fleur turned and beamed at them. Bill gave Fred a thumbs up. Hagrid let out a sob and congratulated them. One by one, everyone was smiling and congratulating them, including several people neither of them recognized.

"Well," sighed Fred. "I s'pose the secret's out."

* * *

Time for kind of a lengthy author's note. (Well, more lengthy than I usually do, but it's the last chapter!) Firstly, this was supposed to be the alternate ending. I had actually planned to kill Fred, but changed my mind at the last second because I just couldn't do it, god damn it. BUT if you want to read his death scene (which isn't _really_ a death scene, but it's the other ending, the one I'd originally planned on using, and yes, he _does _die in it), I just put it up as a one-shot called The World.

Secondly, I hope you're all happy with how this turned out! I know several of you were very concerned about Fred, so please let me know what you think! (Surely... surely nobody was _hoping_ I would kill him off, right?!)

Enormous thanks to **AgentBrenna, nsheldonb, Lunarox67, RinChan0159, **and **hprbdfan** for reviewing!

On that note, **_thank you all so much for reviewing this and favoriting it and following it and reading it!_**Seriously, you're all amazing, and it makes my day when I see that someone else has followed/favorited the story, or when I read through the reviews. This was a just-for-fun project I decided to do while I've still got time to write before I go skipping off to college. (I move on Saturday! I've been putting off packing so I could finish writing this thing.) And when people actually _liked_ it, well, I have to admit I was a bit shocked. So anyways, thank you so much for reading this story. It was fun to write, and I hope it was fun to read.

I wish you all a long and happy life.

(Yes, I stole that from The Lovely Bones. Shh.)


End file.
